


Fangs

by d_aia



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Abuse, Additional Warnings Apply, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Communication, Discussion of Abortion, Discussion of rape/non-con, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, No Major Character Death, No vampires, POV Ian, POV Ian Gallagher, Past Rape/Non-con, post 7x11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-02-11 22:11:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12945087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d_aia/pseuds/d_aia
Summary: Ian chokes on his beer. For a second, he thought he saw Mickey. But Ian couldn’t have. It’s impossible since Mickey died eight years ago.Only one year after they last saw each other at the border.*Ian and Mickey reunite. They take it from there. It's a long road ahead.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the show (and characters, locations, personal histories etc as are shown in them). This is the work of fanfiction.
> 
> Warnings: Both Mickey's sexual abuse and Mandy's are talked about.
> 
> Thanks & Acknowledgements: I am so grateful to Lex for her unending support and help. Thank you!
> 
> Update: Once a week (Thu-Sat).
> 
> A/N: If any of you know **Ukranian** , please let me know. This story is going to have _a happy ending_. Other than that, enjoy!

Ian chokes on his beer. For a second, he thought he saw Mickey. But Ian couldn’t have. It’s impossible since Mickey died eight years ago.

Only one year after they last saw each other at the border.

The guy Ian sees is obviously _not_ Mickey. He wears a blue suit with a black shirt, he’s got a nasty scar on his cheekbone that must’ve hurt, and he’s blond. Nothing like Mickey. His ‘fuck u up’ tattoo is missing from this guy’s knuckles and instead the guy has his entire hands—arms, too, it extends into his jacket—covered in the same tattoo. It’s an animal that bursts out of his skin. Ian can see paws.

So what if the guy is the same height, carries himself with the same self-confidence, or has a ‘fuck with me at your own risk’ vibe?

Mickey is dead.

He died on a Southside corner in a shoot-out along with his father or, as everyone who knew Mickey immediately understood, he died in a shoot-out _with_ his father.

The reason Mickey was back in the country is an unanswered question that still haunts Ian sometimes.

It doesn’t matter, though, because Mickey is dead.

Dead.

And if Ian sees blue eyes, soft lips, and a pretty face it means bad news. His meds probably have stopped working, and, although he doesn’t feel hyper, he’s going to have to get himself committed. He probably shouldn’t even be here.

It shouldn’t work like that.

He had himself under control for more than a decade. His meds need only minor readjustments. He knows this. Besides, he’s a paramedic. He’s at a fucking work conference—in Canada, which makes for a complicated exit—and someone would have told him he’s acting erratically.

Wouldn’t they?

“Can I help you?” the guy asks and he looks _just_ like Mickey.

Also, the lack of ‘what the fuck are you looking at?’ has Ian forgetting his words.

The guy smiles. _Smiles_. He says, “It’s not that bad, is it?” He’s got a faint accent that reminds Ian of Svetlana.

“Yes, it is,” Ian answers without thinking. He shakes his head. “I’m sorry. What’s not so bad?”

“My scar.”

“Your scar?”

The guy’s eyebrows fly off his forehead in a familiar move and Ian is fucked.

“…The reason you’re staring?” the guy says, looking confused. If this was Mickey he’d say he looks concerned, but it’s not because _Mickey’s dead_ so… “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Ian says faintly. Then stronger, “Yes. Of course.”

An eyebrow stays raised and Ian looks around to check if anyone is staring at him. And nope, no one is. The hotel bar is peaceful and he is as anonymous as when he first stepped in. That wouldn’t happen if he started to talk by himself.

Would it?

Canadians are supposed to be polite or some shit, but that’s supposed to be a stereotype.

Right?

“You look a lot like a friend I used to have,” Ian tries to explain. “Ah… he has—had black hair. That’s why I was staring. Not the… You reminded me of him.”

“It’s dye. I am dark-haired too. Sorry,” the guy says with a wolfish smile that makes Ian uncomfortable. And uncomfortably aroused. And so very confused. The guy extends his hand. “Mikhailo.”

Time stands still.

“Another coincidence?”

“Uh, yeah,” Ian replies. He checks his surroundings again—still nothing. “Ian.” He briefly shakes Mikhailo's hand.

“Maybe you’ve seen me before and you got us mixed up,” Mikhailo suggests. “Have you been to Europe? Eastern Europe mainly, but I think I’ve been all over by now.”

“No.” Ian aggressively taps his fingers against his beer bottle. “It’s the first time I’m out of the country. US.”

“Ukraine.” Mikhailo thinks for a bit. _Bites his lip_ making Ian avert his eyes only to swing them back again immediately. It’s not like he’s going to have this—whatever this is and however much it hurts—for long. Finally, Mikhailo has chewed his lip enough and says, “I know you haven’t been to Mexico.”

Ian stops. Blinking. Thinking. Breathing. Just stops.

Wait.

Ian did say this was his first time out. Right, that makes sense. He starts breathing again.

Mikhailo brightens like… like something out of a story and Ian has missed seeing this. Has missed seeing the transformation a good mood can bring on this familiar face, so he doesn’t hear right away when Mikhailo asks, “Southside Chicago, then?”

But the words make their way into Ian’s mind in a few moments.

“You fucker,” Ian hears himself say breathlessly. “You absolute fuck.”

Mikhailo—Mickey, oh shit, _Mickey_ —smirks, but says softly, “I went as fast as I could. Are you going to faint on me, _Ian_?”

“You…” Ian runs out of air. He takes a deep breath. Then another. Once he takes his tenth, he accuses, “You didn’t have to _pause_ for effect.”

“I wouldn’t have if I was certain I wanted you to know,” Mikey shoots back, his eyebrows doing the usual gymnastics.

The usual. Ian almost doesn’t feel the sting, his relief is so great. Almost. He leans on the bar, his head in his hands.

“Is this real?” Ian asks. It comes out muffled by his hands, but he isn’t ready to lift his head so there’s nothing to do about that.

“Can you get me a tea? It doesn’t matter the kind.” Mickey is talking to someone and Ian tries to latch onto his voice while at the same time forget it ever existed. Especially when it gets closer, and tells Ian, “It’s real.”

Ian stays as he is.

“If you don’t believe me, I can always punch you to be sure,” Mickey offers and Ian can hear the smirk in his voice. “You’ll have to wait for the tea. That shit needs to steep.”

“Asshole,” Ian complains.

“You’d freak out even more if I wasn’t.”

“Asswipe.” Ian comes up for air. “How are you alive? How come you go by your own name? How are you here?” Ian studies Mickey. “ _What_ are you wearing?”

Mickey rolls his eyes, but somehow still manages to look concerned. “You want to talk? I thought by now you’d want to fuck, but noooo…”

“Sir,” the bartender—Darla—says. “Your tea.”

“Thanks,” Mickey tells her. Then he turns toward Ian, “Drink.”

“Why tea?”

“It’s warm and you can have it with your meds?”

“You’re always stuck taking care of me,” Ian says and shares a long-suffering look with Darla before he knows what’s happening. “I’m not made of glass.”

“Ay, you almost fainted, leave the big talk,” Mickey replies. By his widening eyes, he probably forgot nine years have passed. Welcome to the club. But then, Mickey’s voice softens and becomes distant at the same time. “I never thought you were made of glass and I never minded the first one.” He nods towards the tea. “Drink your warm, smelly, colored water.”

“Have you ever had tea?!” Ian abandons his bottle in favor of the cup. “Just… how are you alive and here?” He runs a hand through his hair. “Tell me _one_ thing.”

“My mom was Ukranian. So was Terry, but he was a first-generation American. Mom was an immigrant so it made getting citizenship easy.” Mickey shrugs. “After that, money, luck, some smarts, but mostly enough stupidity to not know when I should be scared out of my fucking mind.”

“Not everybody can do what you did before I… we last saw each other,” Ian agrees, stumbling over the words. “The word’s ‘brave,’ Mickey. Brave and smart.”

Mickey doesn’t meet Ian’s eyes.

“Did the money ever make it back to you?” Mickey asks, changing the subject with his usual subtlety.

Ian… allows it. “Threefold.” He nods.

“Good.”

“I’m so—”

But Mickey interrupts him. “Nope.”

“Mickey, come on,” Ian pleads. He can make the whole thing… not good, but better. “I need—”

“So are we fucking?” Mickey talks over him.

“I’m with someone.”

“So?” Mickey asks mockingly.

Ian doesn’t want to think about how fair that comeback is. He tries to tell himself he’s not the same person, but he knows he is for Mickey. And Ian also knows that’s not the whole reason for why Mickey sounds so sure of it. “I’m here with someone,” Ian says softly. “He’s supposed to be down in…” He looks at his watch. “Twenty-thirty minutes.”

“Plenty of time.” Mickey bites his lip. “Living life dangerously.” He wiggles his eyebrows, but he doesn’t mean it. Not really. At least, Ian doesn’t think so.

“Mick…”

Mickey nods and averts his eyes. “Ay, keep quiet?” he asks as he turns.

“What?” Ian should have expected this. He knows that Mickey means his continued survival, but Ian doesn’t think he can do it. “What about your son?”

“Yevgeny knows where to find me.”

“So you told Svetlana and you didn’t tell me?”

Mickey looks at Ian like he’s stupid. “ _He_ knows. Svetlana has another husband; she doesn’t need to know shit.”

“What about the others?”

“What others?”

“The others! Your sister, your…” Ian doesn’t find anything. “Kev! Vee! Debbie! Fiona! Li—Carl. We were worried. And then there’s Iggy.”

“You had to dig deep.” Mickey starts to laugh. “I was dead to them before I left.” He smiles wolfishly. “And Iggy moved out after Terry died.”

“Really?” Ian didn’t know that. “At least Mandy.”

“Mandy’s fine. She’s got a good job and plenty to do raising her daughter. There’s no need to go digging into the past.”

And Ian starts wondering about the role Mickey played into it, but he doesn’t give up his point, “She should know.”

Lightly shaking his head, Mickey says, “No. Why bring up this shit?”

“She’ll be happy to know,” Ian says jumping to Mandy’s defense.

Rubbing his thumb against his lip, Mickey says, “It’s like this: we worry if we know about each other’s lives, but if we don’t, we don’t give a shit. Why would she care about someone who didn’t know she was raped by their father? I was even in the same house, but I only found out when the fucker told me. And why would I care about someone who couldn’t give two shits when it was my turn?” He shrugs. “We do, but we hurt for it. Spare her.”

Ian doesn’t find anything else to say but that doesn’t mean he agrees. No, no, no. He couldn’t accept that.

This couldn’t be the end.

“You know what,” Mickey says, eyebrows dancing. “You can tell them all. I don’t give a fuck. Good luck with that.” He turns and nods to someone before he tells Ian, “How was it? Ah, yeah. Fuck you, Gallagher.” He gives his one-finger salute and walks out… to where Iggy waits.

Fuck.

Ian changes tracks again and takes a gulp of beer.

 

*

Tom and Ian are at a gay bar on their last night in Canada. Ian is not responding to Tom’s attempts to cheer him up, and it’s not because Ian doesn’t want to, it’s just how it is. He is too busy trying not to think about Mickey to explain.

Mickey has been as absent in the last two days as he has been for the past nine years, which doesn’t mean as much as Ian told himself it does. Now, maybe as much as when Ian found out that Mickey was dead or when Ian left Mickey at the border, Mickey is here because he’s not. It’s frustrating and it leads Ian on paths he’d rather not walk.

“Everybody seems tense,” Tom says, looking around.

“Sorry,” one of the bartenders, a dark-eyed Alex, apologizes. “We have a VIP in tonight.”

Tom frowns. “Why would that affect anything?”

“He might buy the bar,” Alex replies with a sly smile.

The other bartender rolls his eyes so hard his head moves drawing attention to his green hair. “Which would be a good thing.” He turns to Tom and Ian. “I’m Leo,” he says airily and he leans in. “This guy has a hard-on for security. He has clinics, bars, clubs, restaurants open all over Eastern Europe and he somehow manages to keep them open despite the homophobes. They’re open to anyone who doesn’t have a problem with us and are safe spaces for a lot of people.” Leo shrugs and steps back. “If he delivers here, that’s _great_ by me.”

“Tom and Ian,” Tom offers. “How did he do it?” He lifts his glass. “Another, please.”

“Old members have to introduce new members, invitation apps that are disguised as something else, background checks, underground parking, special cab drivers, buses that blend in… I don’t know, it sounds complicated.” Alex shakes his head while he pours Tom a whiskey. “This isn’t Ukraine.”

Ian’s head snaps up.

“Xenophobe much? Gay bashing still happens,” Leo shoots back. “If Milkovich can do something about that, I say he’s welcome to it. Ukrainian or not.”    

Ian feels numb. On the one side, he’s so happy that Mickey is helping people, doing for others what he himself needed. On the other, this Mickey doesn’t sound anything like his Mickey. What happened to him? Why couldn’t he be like this with Ian?

He clamps hard on the memory of feeling fingers carding through his hair and tries not to feel like he betrayed somebody. And ‘his Mickey’? What the fuck is that?

“Xenophobe? Me?!” Alex asks.

Leo looks at him unimpressed.

“May…be?” Alex says haltingly. He fidgets a bit. “Damn. Okay, okay. You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Just watch it.” Leo inclines his head. “Here he comes.”

Oh no.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any of you are Ukranian or speak Ukranian and would be willing to lend a hand, please contact me. Thank you!

“What can we get for you, sir?” Alex asks with a handsome but not overly cheerful smile.

“Beer? Surprise”—Mickey stops for a moment when he notices Ian—“me. Not too flowery.” He turns to them with all the recklessness Ian knew Mikey had and, apparently, still has. “Ian. What a coincidence. Here with someone?”

Ian can see Leo and Alex exchange looks but from where Ian sits he doesn’t know what Tom’s reaction is. “Yes. Tom.” He gestures to his boyfriend, keeping his eyes glued to Mickey’s. They are so blue.  

“Did you do this on purpose?” Mickey groaned and quickly licked his lip. “Might as well call me ‘Jerry.’”

“Tom,” Ian repeats feeling his polite smile freeze on his face. That little asswipe. “Mickey.”

“Mikhailo.” Mickey doesn’t extend his hand. Doesn’t even nod. “Delighted, I’m sure.”

“Actually I was… delighted,” Tom says. “But now I’m not sure what’s going on.” 

Alex puts Mickey’s beer on the bar somehow managing to convey _‘you’re fucked’_ to Ian.

At least, that’s how Ian understands it.

“Didn’t Ian tell you about me?” Mickey asks, a challenging smile stretching his lips. Nine years have passed and Ian still feels it tug at his heart. But then Mickey continues, “Okay, I guess I deserve that.”

Ian averts his eyes and they land on the wide ones of Leo so that’s no help.

Tom is confused.

“Adios.” Mickey takes his beer. “Keep him close.” And he’s gone.

“What was that about?” Tom asks and Ian knew this moment was coming since he heard Mickey’s name.

“He was somebody I had a fling with,” Ian says and winces internally. “He was in the closet when we had our thing.”

Tom frowns. “Obsessed with security?” He inclines his head toward Leo and Alex, who _trip on each other_ in their hurry to find something else to do. “He acts like a man who had reason to be.”

“We were young,” Ian replies and hopes the interrogation is over.

“Mmhmm.” Tom nods, obviously thinking. “And I don’t suppose if I were to ask you what he meant about keeping you close, you’ll actually answer.”

Ian opens his mouth but closes it.

“I cheated on him when I wasn’t on my meds and I cheated on other people with him. He thinks that I’m a cheater,” Ian finally says. He’s tired of lying about Mickey.  

Tom blinks. “I guess that thinking he was advising me to keep you close because you were a good man was too optimistic?”

_‘Optimism and Mickey don’t mix,’_ is what Ian wants to say, but he catches himself. It’s black humor. Mickey had his moments, but they left him brokenhearted and Ian doesn’t want to make light of it. Not anymore. Instead, he says with a smile he has to force onto his face, “Not many people are. It’s good that you can still be.”

“Have you ever thought that he might be right?” Tom asks out of left field.

_Praise a man and he shits all over you._

“Not really.”

Tom doesn’t seem to believe him, but he says, “Have you thought of correcting his misconception?”

“Not really.”

“He seemed upset,” Tom says, ignoring the identical answer.

“We didn’t really get… The world always seemed against us. It was always a bad time.”

“I think it might be a good idea.”

Ian runs a hand through his hair.  He’s tired of this. “That so?”

“Yes.” Tom gulps the whiskey and puts the glass back on the bar with care. “Don’t do it if he may punch you or anything, but it’s a chance to talk. The world’s not against you now.” He gestures to the quiet bar. “It’s fine by me if that’s what you’re worried about. I don’t think you’re going to cheat on me. And besides, I’d rather know.” 

“What does that mean?”

“The tension,” Tom says dryly. He seems unimpressed. “It was sizzling.” Probably with Ian.

“It’s just because we haven’t talked in a while,” Ian tries to explain. “I thought he was dead.”

Tom frowns.

“Yeah, I’ll go and talk to him,” Ian says quickly to avoid talking more and also to catch Mickey. “I’ll be right back.” He thinks better of it. “Actually, we might be a while.”

Tom waves him off. “I’ll start pairing the whiskey with water.”

Ian winces.

*

“Hey, can we talk?”

“What does that mean?” Mickey’s eyebrows scrunch up. “Is ‘talk’ a code word for ‘fuck’ now?”

 Ian sighs. “‘Talk’ isn’t a code word for anything. Can we _talk_?”

“Why would we do that?”

“Do you want to talk or not?”

Mickey thinks a good while. “All right.” When Ian turns, ready to head for the door, Mickey stops him with a hand on his elbow. “Hold on.” He turns toward a suit-wearing guy. “Can we use your office?”

The guy nods almost before Mickey finishes the question. “You can smoke too,” the guy says. “Just open the window or I’ll open it after.” He looks at Ian, “I’m glad you’re having a good time.”

Mickey does a half-turn toward him eyebrows held up ready to go, but he stops himself.

Ian tries not to feel disappointed and fails.

“Thanks,” Mickey tells to guy dryly. “Through here.” He gestures to a curtain and goes first. Ian can’t see his face and he is pretty sure it’s on purpose when Mickey says, “So, talk.”

Easier said than done.

“You’re helping people,” Ian finds himself saying. “How did that come about?”

“Is this an interrogation?” Mickey looks over his shoulder. “Because we can go back.”

“You know what I meant.” Even though Ian doesn’t know himself, not really.

“I’m not helping people.” Mickey doesn’t turn this time. “I made some risky moves, I bribed and threatened, leaned a few things from the cartels and put it to practice, and I didn’t start with nothing.” He huffs. “See, I’m the same Mickey you knew.”

 Yes. But also, “They say you protect people.”

Mickey chuckles. “Rich people.”

“Gay people.”

“Rich people,” Mickey repeats. “Yeah, there are others. Now. But they weren’t in the beginning and they aren’t the ones keeping me flush. Sugar daddies and suckers that have something to prove was how I managed to get any of it going. Even now, there need to be people willing to spend for these things to work.”

“That’s more than any of us had.”

“Saint Mickey.”

“Look, I don’t even know what you do, but you have fans.”

“The scam worked.” Mickey goes through a door and straight for the window. With a push, it’s open and Mickey has already lit up. “I was trying to go easy with the smoking if you can believe it. It’s definitely not happening now.” He exhales smoke like a cranky dragon. “What did you want to talk about, Gallagher?”

“Us.”

Mickey’s eyebrows have achieved lift-off. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“There’s no ‘us’ to talk about.”

“There was.” It comes out less pleadingly than Ian would have imagined and more accusing. Ian wants to groan. He’s fucking this up.

“Ah, yeah?” Mickey brings the smoke to his mouth and inhales deeply.

And Ian remembers that the only time when Mickey didn’t respond to an attack by swinging back was when a gun was at Ian’s head.

Shit.

“I thought of us and you only thought about yourself,” Mickey spits. “What’s there to talk about?”

And Ian hits back because that’s what _he_ does. “Yeah, you cared so much for me when you called me a warm mouth.”

“Because I was scared!” Mickey whisper-shouts, voice raw like he had to rip the words out of his heart. “For the both us.”

“You did it for you,” Ian says, but it’s breathless. Mickey’s confession is too true and too unexpected for Ian to still be angry. But he still needs to say his piece. “The wedding, Svetlana moving in, everything. You were scared for you.”

The vulnerable look flickers, drops into a broken expression, and disappears from Mickey’s face. Ian knows the gloves just came off.  “I must’ve dreamed the threats made to you because of me.” He flicks the half-finished smoke out the window.

“You couldn’t hide forever,” Ian says and he hates how defensive he sounds because it’s a good point. 

“Sure I couldn’t, but shouldn’t that be my choice?”

“It was your choice.”

“Then why ultimatum, Ian?” Mickey asks and it hits Ian like a punch. That doesn’t seem to stop Mickey. “Why didn’t you wait, or, hell, just leave? Why the pressure?” His hands are trembling as he lights up again.

“I was the one holding down the relationship and I just wanted for it all to mean something.”

Mickey shakes his head. “You did everything for you.” His voice quiets and becomes tender, as he says, “Yeah, maybe you had reason to, I can understand that.” His tone turns biting. “What I don’t understand is why I was left every time holding the bag. I was never your enemy.”

It’s true.

Ian feels like he’s swimming in honey. Sinking into it. Drowning. The sweet, sickening smell and the thick, slimy feel. He can’t take a proper breath. His movements are slowed down by it. He knows it’s guilt. Just as he knows he fucked up.  

“Are we done here?” Mickey asks, exhaustion disguised as bluster.

“I don’t want it to end here,” Ian says. He swallows back tears. “And yeah, I got it. I’m always thinking about me. But this is us, Mick. You can’t disagree that we have too much history to go over it in one night. We can’t do it.” His voice sounds defeated, but he can’t stop trying. “I liked… well, I can’t say I loved this, but we talked. Yeah, I know that I have my share of the blame that we didn’t before. I understand that you got better and I didn’t.” He draws a breath. “A big part of us, though, has been the circumstances and I want a chance.”

 “Don’t.” Mickey takes a long drag from a newly lit smoke. “Just don’t.”

Ian jaw tightens and he looks away. They stand in silence. He’s caught between angry and crushed.

This is it then.

“It doesn’t work like that,” Mickey murmurs. Ian’s head snaps around to find Mickey looking at his smoke. He adds, “We don’t trust each other. I know I don’t trust you. The first time one of us fucks up all our shit will come right back up.” Mickey again throws the cigarette out the window without finishing it.

“Friends, then,” Ian pleads. He’s doing it again. Pushing, always pushing.

“Friends?”

“Look, it’s going to be your choice,” Ian says. He wants Mickey to know that. It’s important. And Ian quietly goes on, “I think that we can do this. And I’m not going to lie, it sure doesn’t hurt that we’re going to be in different countries.”

“Different continents, I’m going back to Europe tomorrow.” Mickey chuckles. “Then I’m going to Australia.”

“Yeah.” Ian snickers a bit. His guilt is too heavy for anything else. He steals a pen and paper from the table. “Here’s my number. Call if you want to.” He wants to hand it to Mickey, but Ian changes his mind and puts it on the table. “Just…” Ian sighs. “Okay, I’m going to go now. Good luck, Mick.”

Mickey doesn’t say anything and Ian leaves.

“Stay safe,” Mickey calls out.

Ian inhales sharply. That was definitely a shot at his reasons for not going with Mickey in Mexico. Man, that was fucked up. Ian needed that, sure, but Mickey… Fucking hell.

What if Mickey meant it, though?

It’s just like him too, to attack Ian by wishing him good things. After all, they would have had a lot fewer problems if Mickey didn’t give a shit about Ian. Mickey always wanted Ian to be safe.

Fuck.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Ian sits on the steps with Lip. It’s something they do and something that Ian hadn’t even noticed changing slightly over the years, but now, after meeting Mickey, Ian constantly compares the present with the past. For one, there’s no weed. For another, they are both visiting. But the companionship is still here and that’s all that ever mattered.

“I saw Mickey,” Ian says idly and scratches his nose.

“What?!” Lip freaks out. He chokes on his smoke. “What?”

And Ian suddenly understands that this is why Mickey let it go so fast. He didn’t think that anyone will believe Ian. Mickey’s probably counting on everybody thinking Ian was seeing stuff that wasn’t there.

That tiny fucker is such a piece of shit.

“Yep,” Ian says as he tries to come up with something. “Guy was just sitting there. He was blond and had a scar, but still nearly gave me a heart attack.” Because Mickey came close a few times.

Lip deflates in relief. “Don’t say shit like that.” He goes to cuff Ian’s head, but Lip isn’t trying very hard and Ian evades easily. “Do you think about him?”

_No._

_Yes._

_I don’t know._

“I think it’s because he was short,” Ian replies.

Lip laughs _way_ too much.

“What was your problem with him?” Ian asks and shakes his head to refuse the smoke that Lip offers.

Lip shrugs. “He was bad for you.”

“He wasn’t.” Ian turns to Lip. “You know he wasn’t.”

“Come on.”

“I am serious.”

“He triggered your…” Lip gestures strangely. “Your illness.”

“Are you kidding me?” Ian feels somehow insulted. “Anything could have done that. We had a lot of shit on our plate then.”

“But ‘anything’ didn’t.” Lip shakes his head and smiles in that punchable way of his. “He did.”

“What if he hadn’t?” Ian asks. “And I was triggered by the war? Did you forget what I was going to do? Would my breaking down in a place like that be better? What the fuck, Lip?!”

Lip avoids Ian’s eyes and shakes his head slowly. It doesn’t look like he wants to listen and it makes Ian angry. Lip is supposed to be the smart one.

“He tried to take care of me, he convinced me to get my meds, he took all that I was dishing out and he put up with me. It wasn’t easy. And he didn’t have to do any of that, but he did. He never complained.” Ian exhales. “Who else would’ve?”

“Us.”

“You had other problems and that’s not what I meant anyway.”

“Do you want me to remind you how sad you were because of him? Because he was a coward?” Lip asks cuttingly. “I will. I just did.”

“It was more complicated than you ever knew. Both of us were messed up then. You only know my side of it.” Ian runs a hand through his hair. “Since when do people need to be saints anyway, Lip? He pushed himself to reach my fucking standards. He told me he loved me and you know when I said it back? When I told him he wasn’t enough. I needed other shit that he couldn’t offer.”

“Ian.” Lip is watching him carefully. “You couldn’t go with him. And you showed that you wanted him to have a good life. You left him all your savings.”

“I just wish I could have fucking said it in another way,” Ian says and chuckles bitterly. “I sounded like he was a fucking disease and not a person. He didn’t deserve that.”

“You didn—” Lip interrupts himself at Ian’s glare. Shrugging, Lip says, “Okay, so you did treat him like a punching bag. We did.” He waits a bit, but because this is Lip, he adds, “And now he’s dead.”

Ian swallows what he’s sure is going to be deranged laughter. “We sure know how to show our gratitude.”

Lip snorts.

“Imagine if Caleb was my first relationship?” Ian says with wide eyes. “I would’ve believed the shit he said about cheating.”

“Sammi wouldn’t have done prison.”

“Kash wouldn’t have run.”

“We could have gotten shot by Lishman.”

“Would I still be with him if I were with Kash?”

Lip took a deep drag. “That question is too fucked up to answer.”

“I can’t do anything about it now,” Ian says soberly. He feels the burn of tears. “I am so sorry and… that’s it. I have to live with it.”

Lip doesn’t say anything, but he knocks their shoulders together sitting in the silence.

“I have a question,” Lip says dryly. “Why’d you have to go and make me feel shitty too? I didn’t think I did anything wrong. Ignorance, Ian, it was bliss.”

Ian smiles slightly. “You know I feel better when you suffer too.”

“As long as it’s for a good cause.” Lip rolls his eyes. “Do you want to go in?”

Ian shakes his head.

“All right,” Lip says and doesn’t move.

*

A few days after the six-month mark, Ian’s phone goes off in the middle of a Gallagher dinner. He checks it lazily, he doesn’t know the number so doesn’t really care, and answers it as he tries to steal a few fries from Carl. Ian isn’t successful, but, at least, Carl looks a bit more alive.  

“Hello.”

“Gallagher.”

Shit, it’s Mickey.

“Hi!” Ian says _way_ too cheerfully if everyone’s reaction is any sign. He glares back as he leaves the table flipping off everyone over his shoulder. “I’m glad to hear from you.”

“That why you sound strangled?” Mickey asks. He sounds amused but Ian thinks there’s something more to it. But Mickey called and that’s important.

“Just surprised,” Ian says. “And the Gallagher family is the same as always.”

“You were getting mocked.”

“I figure I’m in for round two when I go back.”

Mickey snorts. “Run?”

“Debbie baked.”

“Then I don’t know what the hell you’re complaining about.”

Ian chuckles. “I’m not, I’m just saying.”

“Whatever, Gallagher.” Mickey laughs a bit and Ian feels his grin turn goofy. “Listen,” Mickey asks, “what if you cut yourself and the skin around the wound is red, swollen, and it feels hot?”

“I’d go to a doctor.” Ian’s smile falls. “How big is it?”

“It’s infected, isn’t it?”

“I can’t be sure. How big is it, Mick?” Ian insists.

Mickey laughs. “It’s small. On the side of my palm. I didn’t pay attention when it happened and I had a look at it just now.”

“You ignored it.”

“I did.”

Ian swallowed a smile. “Mick.”

“I had a shit-ton to do!”

“You just called me because you’re too lazy to go to a doctor.” Ian’s goofy smile makes a reappearance, but it’s okay because this is Mickey.

“Ay, you want to be my friend, you need to get ready to bring something to the table,” Mickey says. And Ian can almost see those eyebrows leaving the eyes behind and making a run for it.

“What are _you_ bringing then?”

“Knowledge of geography.”

That came out of left field. “Really?”

“Maybe,” Mickey says and snorts. “I know how to get out of wherever I am, but I never know the city, the country, or, sometimes, even the continent. Iggy is always giving me shit, but it’s all the same.”

“How come?” Now Ian’s curious.

“Different buildings, different languages, different faces, but the same people with the same problems.” This is Mickey at his best: calm, sure, and passionate. “I don’t care about the stuff that changes, it’s not my business and I don’t deal with it, so yeah. It’s all the same.”

And Ian realizes something. “I’d be right there with you.”

“That surprises you?”

“Yeah,” Ian says and he means it. He never saw himself as working with the same people, he always thought that everybody had different stuff going on—and they did—but not when he saw them. Then they were mostly in pain and scared. “I never thought of it like that.”

“You’ll have time because while you think about your purpose in the world or whatever, I need to go to the hospital.”

“Sure,” Ian says. “Let me know how it goes?”

“Maybe,” Mickey replies. “Go eat, Gallagher. And, ah… Thank you.”

“Stay safe.”

Ian hears a faint ‘fucker’ before the call ends. He smiles and shakes his head. Maybe there’s hope.

“Who was that?”

Ian turns and sees Fiona staring at him.  

“A guy I met a couple of months back,” Ian answers.

Ian doesn’t want to say too much. Hell, if it were possible to say nothing, he’d do that. He just wants to keep Mickey and their interactions all to himself. Maybe put them in a safe and stand guard. Ian wonders if the same thought ever went through Mickey’s head.

“A guy?” Fiona’s eyebrow is raised.

“A maybe-friend.”

“Ah.” Fiona smiles. “I’m happy for you.”

*

The second time Mickey calls Ian is trying to secure a broken bottle in a guy’s chest so it doesn’t move and kill him. Ian feels his phone ring but doesn’t have time to direct his attention to anything else. He has a job to do.

After, when Ian’s checking his phone, he finds out it was Mickey and Ian remembers what Mickey said.

_The first time one of us fucks up all our shit will come right back up._

Ian slams his head back. That didn’t take long. Fuck! He sighs and doesn’t know if he should call back now or when he has the time to beg for forgiveness. Ian doesn’t even know what he’s going to apologize for. What was he supposed to do? Not save the guy’s life?

Does Mickey even want to hear from him at this point?

“You look like someone you love came back from the dead to tell you what an idiot you are,” Marie says in that airy way of hers.

Ian lifts his head. “Do you see the future too?”

“No.”

“Then it doesn’t help.”

“That’s why I work here,” Marie tells Ian and sighs.

Ian shrugs and decides to bite the bullet. He’s calling Mickey. Better now than… never, probably. If Ian puts it off, he’ll never get to it. And maybe it won’t be so bad. Maybe Mickey won’t be angry.

Yeah, right.

“I’m sorry,” Ian says as soon as he hears that the call is picked up. “I’m really sorry. I was working and didn’t see it until now. I—”

But Mickey interrupts him. “I know.”

_What?_ Ian is confused. “What?”

“When you didn’t answer I thought that you might be busy or didn’t hear the phone.”

Ian isn’t any less confused. “Wait. So you’re not angry?”

“No.”

“Oh,” Ian says, having problems catching up. “Are you sure?”

“I was until a second ago,” Mickey bites the words. He takes an exasperated-sounding breath. “We don’t know when we sleep, work, or do anything else. It’s going to happen. A lot, if you call me too. We’ll just pick up the phone when we see it and can.”

“Oh, right.” Ian can’t believe it— _Mickey’s not angry_ —but Ian _has_ to move on before he fucks himself over. “What did you want to tell me?”

“I’m going to be okay. With the palm.” A woman’s voice can be heard, clearly at first then it gets muffled. Mickey comes back, “Listen, I got to go.”

“Wait!” Ian raises his voice. “ _Can_ I call?”

Ian hears Mickey take a deep breath, but Mickey doesn’t hesitate when he answers, “Yeah.”

“Than—”

Mickey ends the call, but Ian doesn’t care. Gratitude and Mickey tend to end up in lots of blushing and curses. It’s cute, but Mickey clearly has another opinion. Ian simply smiles.

*

 The next time they talk and the first time Ian calls, he doesn’t choose a good time.

“The fuck?! ‘m sleep’g.”

“Sorry,” Ian says and struggles not to laugh out loud.

Mickey mumbles something.

“What was that?” Ian asks and snickers. “I can call later. Or tomorrow.”

“ _I said_ I’m sleeping off the jet-th’ngy,” Mickey answers, coming through clearly in the beginning but slipping fast. “Wha’ didja wan’?”

“Just to talk, I’ll call—when should I call?”

There is no answer for so long that Ian is starting to think that Mickey fell asleep when Mickey whispers, “What was with the money? Before I left.”

“I wanted to give you a chance,” Ian whispers back, surprised and caught off guard. “To start with something. It wasn’t much, but it was all I saved.”

“It made me feel like a whore,” Mickey replies clearly and it makes Ian tighten his jaw. Mickey goes on sounding wide awake but sad, “Like somebody you pay to leave. Like you were willing to pay just to make sure I—”

Ian can’t handle it anymore. “I didn’t—”

“Yeah,” Mickey talks over him.

They both fall silent.

“Go to sleep, Mickey,” Ian finally says and ends the call.

That went well.

*

Ian hesitates before calling back five hours later. “You up?” he asks as soon as Mickey picked up.

“Barely,” Mickey says and yawns. “What’s up?”

Mickey doesn’t seem to remember the earlier talk or he ignores it, so Ian isn’t going to bring it up again, mostly because there’s nothing more to say.

“I met a girl today,” Ian starts. “And it made me think of Frannie.”

“How come?” Mickey asks and a rustle of ... sheets can be heard.

Ian’s mind flashes an image of naked-and-groggy Mickey and Ian feel a rush of heat that he does his best to ignore. So, instead, he starts speaking, “She was the bravest girl. They both are. This little girl, the one I met today, almost drowned trying to save her older brother. He was with another ambulance, but she…” Ian shakes his head. “You have to understand, we had to do CPR. She was exhausted and she had almost died. But she still asked about her brother.”

“Attagirl.” Mickey gives a fond little chuckle. “Did she make it?”

“Probably. She was already better.”

“What about her brother?”

“I don’t know.” Ian shrugs. “They can’t offer information to people who aren’t family and we had another call anyway.”

“That sucks.”

“Not always. Sometimes—most times—it’s actually freeing. You do what you can and then it’s out of your hands.” Ian explains. “You… I care about them. And half an hour later I have to do my best to save another person. My focus has to be on them.”

“I get that. It makes sense,” Mickey accepts. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah. I mean, the money isn’t that bad and I get to help people. What more can I want?”

“To go to Paris and eat at the best restaurants?”

“Bullshit. You haven’t gone either, or, if you did, it was not because you wanted to. You’d hate it.”

“That’s not the point.” Mickey chuckles. “What about Frannie?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah.” Ian smiled. “Bravery while injured. She broke a leg three weeks ago falling out her window while she was trying to climb in. Don’t ask. But her leg’s in a cast, right?”

“Right.”

“Her friend was mugged.”

“She didn’t.”

“She hobbled after the guy yelling,” Ian says and laughs.

Mickey is right there with Ian. “Shit. On her crutches?”

“She dropped them.” Ian pauses so Mickey can laugh and still hear the story. “She finally drew the attention of a cop. About time too, the whole street was gawking. Not that they did anything, fucking cowards.”

“And?” Mickey asks breathlessly. “What did she do? ‘Cause I know that ain’t all.”

 “So—” Ian begins but bursts into laughter. “So the cop catches the guy a-and brings back the back-backpack. She takes it.” He stops for a second to control himself. “She says thank you.” His voice gets higher. “Then she whacks the guy across the face with it— _hard_ —and she says—” He snorts. “She says: Sorry. I lost my balance.”

They both burst into guffaws.

*

From that day, they keep up.

*

“I received—Wait. Hold on, I have to read this shit.” Mickey clears his throat. “The Award for the Investor of the Year, from LGBTI Amsterdam.”

“Congratulations, Mick!” Ian says honestly. “Aren’t you in Australia, though?”

“I was,” Mickey dismisses. “And you’re not listening. I—received—an— _award_!”

“So?”

“Why would I receive an award, Gallagher?”

Ian frowns. “Because you’re ‘ _Investor of the Year’_?”

“You know I didn’t do shit out of the goodness of my heart.”

“I don’t.” Ian shakes his head. “Besides, isn’t it their award? Shouldn’t they decide?”

“Whatever.”

“It sounds like a big deal, Mick.” Ian smiles. “It sounds like something to be proud of.”

*

“I’m worried about Fiona,” Ian says several days later.

“What the fuck’s she done now?”

If Ian is reading Mickey’s tone of voice correctly—and Ian’s pretty sure he is—then Mickey is concerned and trying not to show it. That gives Ian a warm feeling and it’s enough for him to whisper the whole thing in the darkness of the apartment he shares with Tom. It’s been tough, but now…

Ian says, “I think she’s depressed.” He says, “I think that she’s a worse than she tells us.” He closes his eyes and says, “Nobody believes me.”

And Mickey fucking _understands_. He locks the door in Ukraine and sounds serious. “I’m listening.”

It’s such a fucking relief.

“She’s not… she’s not as bad as me, as I used to be.” Ian swallows. “So if she’s sad all the time, or if she makes jokes about ending it, or she isn’t ever in the mood for going out, or she doesn’t shower as much, everybody just thinks it’s—I don’t know. Something that’ll pass.”

“And you don’t.”

“Would you?”

“Ian,” Mickey says and it’s full of _something._ “I didn’t react as I should’ve when it all started. I didn’t understand. I still don’t, and more than that I don’t _know_ what I was supposed to do.”

“C’mon, you were—”

“Uninformed and stubborn, at best.”

“But you _never_ looked at me like I was broken.”

“That one was easy to do,” Mickey says and chuckles softly. “I never thought you were.”

Ian breath hitches without his permission and Mickey surely heard it.

“What did you want to say?” Ian asks. “About Fiona.”

“Besides knowing what it’s like, you’re the closest thing that family has to a doctor, Gallagher.” Mickey easily goes back to Ian’s sister. “You know what you should do. Use it.”

*

“I’m proud of Mandy, all right? She wanted to raise a child, be a parent, and now she is,” Mickey explains, with zero patience as usual. Ian doesn’t know how Mickey manages any type of negotiations _or_ deals. Then again, Mickey finds ways to get what he wants and he doesn’t shy away from threats, which is funny because he looks like an angel. Maybe the scar helps. “So what if the kid is not hers by blood, Mandy’s that kid’s mama. That’s what counts.”

“That’s…”

Mickey snorts. “If you’re thinking about Yev, don’t. I’m not his parent, I never wanted to be. It’s just that for a time, I accepted it. He has Svet, a father, and me. This way, I’m always going to be in his life.” 

“That’s big.” Ian is surprised by Mickey and this whole subject. “And not bad. Not bad at all.”

“It’s what it is.” Mickey sighs like a grouchy old man and Ian _loves_ it. But Mickey doesn’t stop there, “What I’m not so sure about, it’s her and Lip.”

Ian raises his eyebrows. “What about them?”

“Like I don’t know the friends-with-benefits thing they have.” Mickey huffs.

“How did you know about that?” Ian just can’t keep up today. “Do you have people following us? Is the guy that I see out my window having a smoke working for you? He has nerdy glasses. He _looks_ shady.” 

“No, I don’t have people fol—I’m not the Feds!” Mickey shouts but Ian can hear the smile on his face. Mickey grumbles a bit and adds, “I give Iggy money to pay Kev. He’s supposed to tell Iggy what’s going on and shut up about it to you.”

“How much?”

“Two hundred if nothing’s up and four if he has news.”

“How do you know he’s not lying?”

“He better not be,” Mickey growls.

Ian ignores the tug that happens in his pants at that, and says, “I didn’t know anything about it so something must work.” He thinks for a bit. “So Mick, you’re not the Feds.” Ian snickers. “You’re just the mob.”

“I’m not the m—though that _would_ be something,” Mickey says and he sounds like he’s thinking about it, which… no.

“Don’t you have enough money?”

“There can never be enough,” Mickey replies immediately. “But yeah, I do fine.”

“Fine, he says.” Ian rolls his eyes. “Fine.”

Mickey smiles. No, he smirks. Ian is willing to bet that Mickey’s smirking as he brings up Mandy again. “I guess Mandy is old enough to take care of herself, if only for Natalie’s sake.”

“Lip loves them,” Ian defends his brother.

“Mandy loved Lip more than herself,” Mickey shoots back. “That’s obsession. And if it became less, it’s still… first loves. You don’t forget something like that.”

“I know,” Ian says quietly. _Here I am talking with him on the phone—fifteen years, loads of hurt, and an ocean between us._ “They seem happy though.”

“They better,” Mickey growls again.

And Ian’s happy to hear him. “Mob much?” he asks idly as he adjusts himself.

Mickey laughs.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays, everyone!

“I broke up with Tom,” Ian says as sips his water.

“I never know what to say to these things,” Mickey whines. “How do I know that if I’m saying, ‘hey man, that’s good,’ I won’t make you all sad and shit.”

Ian snorts.

“My go-to answer is unlikely,” Mickey goes on. “I mean if you think I’m going to come and beat him up for you, I’ll say it, but that doesn’t change that I’m going to Tokyo in like… four hours.”

“No, we’re okay,” Ian says and he knows he has his goofy grin on but he can’t help it. “He’s a dentist, he can work wherever, so when his sister called him from Austin—she has three kids—and told him that her husband died in a skiing accident, he decided to go and help.”

“That sucks.”

“Nah, it’s okay. We talked about keeping it long-distance, but we weren’t that serious.” Ian suddenly remembers who he’s talking to and where Mickey is, and hurriedly adds, “It’s going to suck moving back home.”

Smirking—yeah, Mickey got what Ian didn’t say—Mickey asks, “Can’t afford the rent?”

“It’s his apartment.”

“Well, shit.”

There is a long silence. Ian starts peeling the wrap off the bottle. He knows what he’s thinking about, but he’s not sure…

“Died in a skiing accident?” Mickey asks.

Yep.

They both snort.

“Sounds rich, huh?” Ian snorts. “I never thought I’d get to say a sentence like that.”

“I know,” Mickey says choking back laughter.

“People die when they launch themselves down snow-covered slopes at stupidly fast speeds. It happens,” Ian tries to explain. “It’s just…”

“Sounds a different kind of accidental than catching a bullet while taking out the trash?”

“Yeah!”

“I still check my bank accounts in the middle of the night.” Mickey makes a weird sound, something between a chuckle and a sigh. “Still have stashes everywhere in case something happens.”

Ian closes his eyes. “I still live in my boyfriends’ apartments.” This is Mickey, he understands. Ian’s not ashamed, but he is relieved that someone _gets_ it. “Still move back home.”

“Do you think we’ll ever…,” Mickey trails off.

‘Get used to it?’, ‘Stop feeling like this?’, or maybe, ‘Lose it all someday?’

Ian has no idea how Mickey was going to finish the question, but Ian says, “We’ll have to wait and see, right?”

“What the fuck was that?!” Mickey asks after a moment’s pause. “Fortune cookie shit.” He grumbles, “I’ll just wait and see.”

Ian tries not to laugh and ends up spitting out his water.

*

While walking to Harry’s apartment one day, Ian sees the flag. He might have googled the country Mickey’s in. It might’ve been on Ian’s mind more than it should.

At least, he told Harry—during their first date even—that Ian has a good friend abroad. So what if he didn’t tell him that Mickey, though Ian didn’t actually say his name, will always have a claim on Ian’s… everything? That’s still progress.

Anyway, so Ian recognizes the flag and sees that it’s used to advertise Ukrainian language lessons. They’re cheap. He can even sign up right now. And Ian finds himself thinking that’s not a bad idea. He wants to understand Mickey no matter what he speaks.

That Wednesday is his first lesson.

*

“So the fucker wants to cheat on me!”

Ian is taken aback. “Mick? Can you say that again?”

“Uh.” Mickey is out of the anger and plunged into confusion. “So the fucker wants to cheat me? Can you hear me?”

“Yeah.” Ian shakes his head. “No, the pho—I… I thought you said something else.” He swallows painfully. “So what about the guy?”

“Fuck him! I don’t care anymore.” Mickey turns away from the scrap of meat for a better bite. “What did you think I said?”

“Nothing.”

“Oho, now you really got to cough it up.” Mickey chuckles. “I haven’t heard a lie that bad since kindergarten.”

“Were you even in—”

Mickey interrupts, “Kindergarten- _age_ , okay?”

“I don’t th—”

“Nope. You aren’t getting out of this.”

“But—”

“Nuh-uh. No.”

“Fine!” Ian doesn’t know why he cares about Mickey, he’s such a little shit. After blowing a breath, Ian admits, “I thought you said that the fucker wants to cheat on you.”

“Nope, that was just you,” Mickey says cheerfully.

Ian groans. “Thanks, Mickey.”

“No problem. Keeping you humble.” There’s even a smile in Mickey’s voice. “So about this guy—”

But Ian is not ready to laugh about it. He’s not ready to… be forgiven. Ian wants to explain first but, at the same time, he doesn’t. What if he makes it worse? What if this way is better for Mickey? Hell, what if this way is better for Ian? For them both.

Ian takes a deep breath and talks over Mickey. “I could explain.” Mickey stops talking abruptly so Ian sees no way out than through. “What I was thinking. If that… helps.”

“I cheated on you too,” Mickey says quietly surprising Ian. There’s a sound of Mickey standing up and he goes on, “When you left? I cheated on you too.”

“That’s not same,” Ian says, shaking his head. “I never blamed Frank for cheating on Monica.”

“You’re not Monica.”

“And you had nothing to go on, I left without a word.”

“You had just been diagnosed; you needed to come to terms with all that shit.” Mickey sighs. “Nobody gets news like that and goes, ‘oh, I think I’m going to do the right thing here.’” He breathes in deeply. “Look, you needed to see how it was going to be: on meds, on drugs, you name it. I understand that now. I didn’t then.”

“I still cheated on you.”

“Yeah, that was fucked up.”

“It was.” Ian runs a hand through his hair. “It is. I… It seemed like the most… _logical_ conclusion at the time. Just… do it, you know? It was only after that I realized… But there was so much to do. Things were so bright and colorful.”

“Logical?” Mickey whispers. “How come? Based on what?”

“On nothing.” Ian grips his hair tighter. “That’s the thing, it wasn’t. It seemed like it, at the time, but it wasn’t. And even now. Even when I’m better, I still make impulsive decisions. Sometimes I manage to stop myself—at work, when it’s somebody else’s life on the line—other times my family does, and there are times when nobody does. And sometimes they are good decisions, but sometimes I do stupid shit like going for a run after a 16-hour shift.”

“Didn’t you always?” Mickey asks and Ian starts to shake his head. But he doesn’t say anything, so Mickey is uninterrupted. “With Kash even though you knew Linda and her children were around? With that doctor and _his_ pissed off wife?”

Ian frowns.

“Didn’t we all?” Mickey chuckles. “Fiona and the coke. Debbie and Frannie. Lip and… everything, that stupid shit doesn’t think things through, I don’t care how much of a genius he is. Or me. Mandy. Iggy followed me here without knowing anything for sure. How do you tell the difference between the illness and the way you grew up?” 

“Uh… I guess I have to take meds and shit,” Ian replies. “But I get what you’re saying. I _am_ better.”

“Good,” Mickey says and he sounds it. “How about… Wh-How about your meds? How’s that working out?”

Mickey is never uncertain and vulnerable, until he is, and then he sounds so much like a scared kid that it makes Ian do anything for that shit to just go away.

“They’re good,” Ian answers cheerfully. A little forced and too enthusiastic, but he’s trying. “I see my doctor a couple of times a year and sometimes go to group, less often now than I did in the beginning. I… I sort of rely on the people around me to be able to tell if I’m doing anything too… out there. I talk to them if I’m feeling down or too bright. A good support system, you know?”

Like Mickey would have been. Or would he have let Ian get away with—no. Mickey realized that Ian wasn’t getting better. Maybe Mickey needed to come to terms with it too, but he had always been there for Ian. Mickey had known about Ian’s meds and cared about Ian whether he was ready to go all the time or not at all. Mickey would have been good for Ian.

“Happy it works, Firecrotch,” Mickey says brightly.

And Ian doesn’t detect any resentment in it, so he says, “I’m better now, yeah.” He laughs lightly. “Tell me about the fucker.”

*

“Harry dumped me,” Ian say—whines.

“Who’s Harry?”

 “My boyfriend.” Ian frowns. “I told you about him?”

Mickey snorts. “No, you didn’t. Didn’t you just break up with the ski-accident dentist?”

“You make Tom sound like an adrenaline junkie.”

“He did come up with the idea that you should talk to me.”

“And he was right.”

“Yeah, about the guy he’s never seen before,” Mickey says. “I’m going to hold my congratulations.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Ian says, but he’s smiling, “that was three months ago.”

“Right.”

“I’ve been with Harry two months and a half.”

“Right,” Mickey repeats doubtfully.

“I couldn’t stand the house or the lack of sex,” Ian admits. “And Harry was—”

“Boring?”

“Nice.”

“Boring!” Mickey laughs a little. “See? I was right too.”

“I don’t really do”— _Bad boys? Boys like you?_ —“anything else, anymore. It’s not worth it.”  _You ruined the whole type for me; every one of them is a cheap copy._ “I need—”

“Ay! Don’t you fucking start with your stability bullshit!” Mickey’s voice raises and Ian feels both defensive and guilty. Luckily, Mickey gets to his point, “Doesn’t have to be a meth-dealing biker, Gallagher. When all you can say about somebody you should care about is ‘nice,’ that’s when you know you’re fucking yourself over. I’m betting there’s a lot of ‘nice,’ in your life. And this one. Two fucking months and ‘nice’ is still the first thing that comes to mind.” He sighs. “I once told somebody you were batshit insane.”

Ian laughs.

“And alien-looking,” Mickey says idly.

Ian laughs harder.

“And packing nine inches,” Mickey tells Ian dryly.

Ian _howls_. People turn. It’s a whole production.

“I may have mentioned the freckles, but I never… _never_ called you ‘nice,’” Mickey says. “And yeah, maybe we lacked stability. But besides the batshit thing, those things are always on the surface. It’s why you had a boyfriend again after two weeks.”   

Trying not to blush, Ian knows how he looks, he asks, “So you’re saying I need a bet—no,  a different vocabulary?”

“I’m saying you should know the shits you so lovingly call _boyfriend_.”

Ian plays with a zipper on his jacket. It’s an opportunity. “That what you do with yours?”

“I don’t call anyone that.”

_You used to._

*

“Vira asks me to get more bodyguards and—”

“Wait,” Ian interrupts. “Who’s Vira?”

“My lawyer,” Mickey answers. He sounds annoyed. “Can I go on now?”

And Ian can swear he hears Mickey’s eyebrows begging to fly off his forehead. Ian hides a snicker in his shirt. He has more questions, but they can wait.

“Yeah.”

“So she says—”

“Wait. How many do you have?”

“How many what?” Mickey growls.

“Bodyguards.”

“Two.”

Ian is surprised, but he says, “So she asks you to hire bodyguards…”

“Because she says—That’s two without Iggy,” Mickey corrects, interrupting himself. “He works as a driver and bodyguard so he can have a gun.”

“Looks sharp too.”

“Do you want to hear this or not?”

“Sure.”

“Vira asks me to get more bodyguards because there are more threats or something. I only got some on her bitching, anyway, but they’re not enough. So I sit there, thinking about it, and I just… start laughing.”

“Really?” Ian asks. “Because I'm more worried. Threats?”

“Yeah,” Mickey says and laughs softly. “You know the shit I've been through and now I pay these huge guys to take a bullet for me? And it’s not even… I read some of those and she’s right.”

“Mick…” Ian trails off, not knowing what to say.

“It doesn’t feel real.”

“What are you going to do?” Ian asks quietly.

“Hire more.” Mickey chuckles and he sounds high. Dazed. Overwhelmed, would be another guess. “Get better security at my house? I don’t know, Firecrotch.”

Ian feels like he can’t stay still anymore and begins to pace. “What does Vira say?”

“Same thing. What, you suddenly trust her?” Mickey chuckles.

“I don’t know. She seems to know what she’s saying and she can deal with your stubborn ass,” Ian says expecting…

“Ay!”

That. “She’s from Ukraine?”

“She is.” Mickey shuffles some bottles around, possibly pours himself a drink. “She’s the reason I’m not declared dead in the US anymore.”

“What?!” Ian shouts. Then looks at his bedroom door fearfully and goes on quieter, “Hold on, you haven’t told me about that. You haven’t told me any of it.” Ian is willing to bet that his pacing will finally run through the flooring and he’ll end up on top of Fiona. “I’d like to know.”

“It’s a lot to tell,” Mickey warns.

“I have time!” Ian whisper-shouts.

Mickey heaves a sigh straight into the receiver. “Promise me you’ll tell me if you need to take a pill or something?”

“Promise,” Ian says, oddly somber with the two thoughts running on a loop through his head: _Mickey cares. Of course, he does. But Mickey cares._

“You had to have heard that I escaped, but I bet you didn’t know why,” Mickey begins.

And Ian almost says, ‘Of course, I heard, I was there,’ before he remembers himself. Mickey probably doesn’t want mention it because he wants to protect him. Do they really tap phones? No need to risk it, either way. So Ian changes it to, “No, the news didn’t say.”

Mickey makes a noise that sounds like a confirmation. “They were going to transfer Terry in.”

White noise. What the doctor never told Ian was that panic is nothingness and white noise. His heart starts beating double-time and he breathing is getting quicker. Terry, Mickey, Mickey’s tattoo, a cage, and a fuckton of prisoners. Fucking shit fuck.

Ian would have… Fuck! He can’t blame Mickey for running. How the hell did Mickey escape under that big a pressure? Alone. Mickey was alone and dealing with that shit while Ian was… what was he doing? Getting cheated on by Caleb? Checking out Trevor’s ass? Talking shit about Mickey? Oh, shit. Ian’s going to be sick.

“Fuck!” Ian yells. _“Fuck!”_

“Ay! It’s not your fault! That asshole is not your fault!” Mickey shouts.

“How can it not be?” Ian yells back. “And even if that’s true, I can still feel like crap about how I treated you after.”

“I thought we settled that. None of it matters anyway, I escaped.” Mickey takes a deep breath. “So chill the fuck out.”

Ian sighs. “I don’t know why you talk to me, Mick.”

 “Must’ve been those alien looks,” Mickey shoots back.

Cracking a grin, Ian says, “Must’ve.”

Ian hears steps hurrying up the stairs so he opens the door to give a thumbs-up to Fiona with a smile and a mouthed, ‘Sorry.’

She visibly hesitates, looking at him up and down, frowning.

He shrugs sheepishly.

Finally, Fiona mouths, ‘Talk later,’ and she turns, her swishing ponytail disappearing.

“Coast clear?” Mickey whispers with more drama than can fit in such a tiny body.

“Yeah,” Ian tries to say seriously but he chuckles anyway. “You’re an ass, you know that?”

“I know you like my ass.”

“That I do.” Ian runs a hand through his hair. “So you escaped. Where did you go?”

“To Mexico,” Mickey says. “I got settled and then got a letter from the asshole. I don’t know how he found me.” Here, Ian understands, ‘I know how he found me, but I can’t tell you.’ Mickey goes on with his story, “It said he was coming for you. And I tried to return, but I couldn’t.”

‘I returned.’

 For Ian.

But Mickey doesn’t stop, “I don’t know what happened, but the lawyers Vira hired for this told me that a guy who had my tattoos—and check this out, they weren’t even sure they were tattoos—got shot in the face. No one sprung for DNA tests, his fingerprints were filed, and no one must’ve bothered with my medical file because you know it gets. Another Southside murder. I was declared dead.”  

“Yeah, you were,” is all that Ian is capable of replying. What can he say? Thank you? It’s hardly enough and it could get Mickey in trouble.

Fuck, the scar.

“I got in Ukraine, got ahold of Vira, told her about my escape, and she said that we should try again,” Mickey says. “It turns out that they sent me to prison on no evidence and since my escape was done _in distress,_ ”—he snorts—“more like I was freaking the fuck out, I waived away the millions that I could have got for putting me in prison and got time served for the escape. And I’m not dead anymore.”

Woa, motherfucker.

“That’s…” Ian starts but has no idea how to continue.

“I couldn’t believe it either.”

“No shit,” Ian says and his voice is a little high and possibly faint.

Mickey, the ass, laughs.

*

“What was that about?” Fiona asks with a fake smile. She’s concerned, Ian can tell.

“I was talking to my friend—”

“What friend?”

“I told you about him, remember?”

“That friend? That was… months ago.” Fiona frowns. “And you’re still friends?”

“He doesn’t live in the US,” Ian says and Fiona nods.

She’s probably thinking Mickey’s from Canada but since she doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t either.

“So what’s up?”

“He received death threats and has to hire more bodyguards, increase his security.” Ian shrugs. “I’m worried.”

“Sure.” Fiona blinks a few times, out of her depth. But she wouldn’t be Fiona if she didn’t knock herself back on stable ground. Her therapy is working. “What does he do?”

Ian gives her his best shit-eating grin. “He’s the mob.”

“Ian!”

“Relax.” Ian chuckles. “We started talking in a gay bar. I was with Tom?” He asks helping Fiona along. “He owns a lot of them—bars and clubs and _hospitals_?—and I think he makes sure there’s security so that everybody feels safe. It doesn’t come up much.”

“That’s really good, Ian.” Fiona smiles. “I’m sorry he’s too far away to hug.”

Ian grins back. “Same.”

Narrowing her eyes suspiciously, Fiona nonetheless nods.


	5. Chapter 5

“I am fucking done with your country,” Mickey rages. “So _fucking_ done!”

“Oh, it’s my country now,” Ian says wryly and fondly. They’re bickering over the country as if it were their kid. He has the urge to smile, smile, and keep on smiling for the longest time. “What’s it done now?” He bites his lips to stop the urge. It doesn’t help.

“I’ve been trying to buy a club.” Mickey stops suddenly. “Ay, I’m going to be in Chicago… next month?” Papers are being shuffled. “Yep. Next month. We can’t see each other for more than an hour or two while somebody tries to sell me something, but… you know?” And Mickey’s uncertain again. Vulnerable too.

“Sure, I’d like to see you,” Ian assures. “Did you factor in my shifts?”

“Yeah.”

“And are you sure everybody’s okay with me there?”

“They better be. You’re gay too.”

Ian has nothing to say to that so he brings up the meeting again, “Tell me again when we’re getting closer so I have a better idea if my shift-cycle stays the same?” He would definitely be giddy if he’d let himself think about this, but nothing is certain yet so he’s not. That doesn’t mean that he won’t be crushed if this doesn’t happen.

“Sure,” Mickey says easily. “So the country. It’s… impossible. The first thing is that it won’t acknowledge gay-bashing and other hate crimes. I had a bitch tell me,”—his voice takes a patronizing tone—“‘This kind of thing may be common where _you’re_ from, but it doesn’t happen _here_.’ Bitch, I know better. And we’re from the same place? When I told him, he was like: ‘How unfortunate. Southside, you said?’ Gah! If I could punch him through the phone…!”

“I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“Anyway, I dealt with that, but on—”

“How?”

“I told his boss that if she doesn’t handle my business and I hear about it, I’ll sue the company _and_ she won’t receive her bonus. She wasn’t stupid,” Mickey drawls. “When I saw what we had to deal with I practically threw money at Vira to hire local lawyers. They are supposed to be good and they cost a lot of money, but what use is that to me if I can’t intimidate a fucker or two?”

Ian laughs. “Still the same bully I know.”

“Ay, I gotta recognize myself in the mirror, don’t I?” Mickey is smiling though. “So you have the denial going on and the public health system is all over the place, which is good news for me, but bad for you. Though that’s changed a little in the last couple of years, especially at the County level.”

_Mickey cares. Of course, Mickey cares. But Mickey cares. Of course, he does._

“But?” Ian grins.

“I can get a tax deduction for _everything_ ,” Mickey says, sounding gleeful.

Ian laughs again. Today is a good day. “I don’t even know what you _do_.”

“How’s your history?”

“I would have said better than yours, but I’m suddenly not so sure.”

“Have you ever heard of ‘speakeasies’?”

“Um… I think so. They were used to smuggle alcohol?”

“Close enough. They were places that had alcohol when having it was against the law. Some of them had hidden drawers in the bars, some had hidden rooms, others secret entrances. That’s what I do. Besides security, I make sure that everything of mine, be it clubs, bars, hotels, hospitals get the speakeasy-treatment: hidden entrances/exits, underground parking, drivers, membership only… the works.” Mickey snorts. “I make sure it’s safe.”

Ian raises his eyebrow. “For gay people?”

“For everybody who doesn’t have a problem with…” Mickey laughs and goes on in what is supposed to be a snotty accent. “The LGBTQ community.”

“What’s with the accent?”

“Firecrotch, there needs to be _one_ name and it needs to be for everyone because I’m not going to recite the fucking alphabet,” Mickey says. “In Amsterdam is LGBTI, in some places is just LGBT, in others is LGBTQ+. And if I hear one more time that somebody is not allowed in because of how many times they have sex or with whom or how, I’m going to punch somebody. I don’t give a fuck, Ian, so why are these shits asking me?”

“They don’t know your dedication to not giving a fuck,” Ian says wryly.

“Why should I care?” Mickey huffs. “Their money is just as good. If they aren’t looking to start something because the others are only fucking on a full moon, I have no problem with them.”

“Fair. What are you going to buy when we meet?” Ian asks curiously.

“Tax breaks,” Mickey replies and Ian rolls his eyes. “I’m looking to make a donation or fund a charity or I don’t know what the fuck. I’ll have it figured out by then.”

*

“We’ll hear each other when you’re in Chicago and I’ll leave towards the place?” Ian asks, not ready to believe that this is really happening and at the same time, already making so many plans.

“Yeah,” Mickey says absently.

Ian frowns. It can’t be. “Something wrong?” They’re going to see each other. Hopefully. Maybe.

“No.”

“Mick.” Ian swallows.

Even if they won’t, they are still going to talk to each other. Unless Mickey changed his mind, and he’s not giving Ian a chance to make things better after all. Ian goes through his memories of the calls. They get on, right? Mickey wouldn’t just change his mind all of a sudden. Right?

_You did._

Ian struggles to push that thought away.

“I was talking to Yev earlier,” Mickey says, apparently deciding to answer. He is clearly still thinking about it which helps hide how _relieved_ Ian is. That not everything is about him takes a backseat to Mickey’s complete reply, “I think something’s wrong.”

“What?” Ian shakes his head at himself. “What makes you think so?”

“Nothing I could point at.” Mickey’s obviously upset. “Just… I have a feeling? I don’t know. How he talks? And how exhausted with life he is. Kids shouldn’t be like that.”

“We were.”

“Yeah.”

“Which is exactly your point,” Ian says sheepishly. “Did you talk to Svet about it?”

Mickey sighs deeply. “I might have to.”

“I don’t know if I’m on the same page here, Mickey. Svet was the person who pa—insisted I visit yo—”

“Paid you to visit me. I know, you told me.”

Ian winces. “And I’m sorry about that. I… Really, Mickey, I was a dick then. I had this idea in my head that you were to blame for everything bad that’s ever happened to me. That you never treated me right. And you made your mistakes, but that wasn’t even remotely true. It was such bullshit. I’m sorry.”

“I know,” Mickey says, but doesn’t sound as blank or hurt as he had in Canada. Maybe rehashing all of it was helping. Maybe they were making progress. “I’m thinking that wasn’t your point?”

“My point was that you two seemed close.”

“We were.” Mickey stops and sighs. “Kind of. But you know that she had to divorce me”—he snorts bitterly—“and all the other shit that happened. And after…”

“After?” Ian asks before realizing what he’s doing. Pushing, always pushing. “You don’t have to answer that.”

“I’ll do it anyway. Or because.” Mickey’s voice gets muffled before clearing back up. “After I spend some time thinking and I saw things more clearly. I mean, she had a shit life and she didn’t get a choice in her job or much of one when Terry was waving that gun around. But after that? When she came in, told me she’s pregnant and demanded that we marry? When she threatened me with my father? When she joked with him? When she made me wonder if Yev’s mine? I still don’t know for sure. That part doesn’t matter now, but yeah. That was all her.”

Ian froze like a rabbit, waiting for the wind to shift to hear and smell in which direction to run for safety, wanting to know what to say or do to make it better, but the big bad wolf was closing in.

“I know why she did it,” Mickey says easily. “I know that she wanted the kid and she wanted a good life for him. Fuck everybody else. He’s the only one that matters. You’ve got to admire that. That’s one lucky kid. And I would be right there with fucking pom-poms if she didn’t take away my choices.”

“I… don’t understand,” Ian stutters. “She had as many choices as you did. T-That’s what I thought.”

“Nope, that’s where you are wrong. See, I thought the same, but it ain’t true,” Mickey shoots back. “When she came at the house, she had choices. If she didn’t want to keep the baby, she could have asked for money to get rid of it. Sasha would have been on board, she didn’t care what her girls did as long as they worked. If Svetlana wanted to give it for adoption, she could have asked for money to help with the pregnancy. If she had wanted to keep it, she could have asked for money, alimony, which would have been another shit-fest, but it didn’t happen.”

Ian kept quiet.

“The whole thing was…” Mickey chuckles bitterly. “They have a term for that. It’s called ‘corrective rape.’”

“I know,” Ian says quietly.

“And she couldn’t get out of it in the moment, I get that,” Mickey says. “But she had all these choices, and she went with the one that fucked me over. And she didn’t care. She knew she wanted the kid, but that’s not all she wanted. She wanted a family. She wanted the kid to have his father around. She wanted money and attention for him and for her. She wanted it as she did and nothing else mattered. And I couldn’t give her that. I couldn’t even look at him! She wanted me to get past my shit even when she blackmailed me into it.”

Mickey’s voice rises while Ian closes his eyes. He didn’t get it, at the time. He had been too busy with his own shit and, sometimes, he had thought it was all Mickey’s fault. And Ian wonders what the hell is it about Mickey that makes everybody blame him for shit?

“I didn’t want the kid, Ian,” Mickey confesses, voice raw and guilty. “Some people decide to have the kid no matter the circumstances, but I didn’t. I don’t want to be a parent. And it wasn’t my choice. I care about him, but I’m not his dad. Maybe, in time, I could’ve been. If she’d have taken it slowly, if she hadn’t demanded to marry me, if I could have known him without her background giggles at my father’s insults. Or maybe I’m just a shit dad and he’s better off. Who is the world would think of me as a parent? And what was she thinking to force me to be that for Yev?”

“Mickey, you weren’t that bad,” Ian says desperately. “Yeah, it took you a while, but you weren’t that bad.”

There’s an edge in Mickey’s voice as he asks, “So she was right to force me?”

“No,” Ian says with conviction. “It was the how it had happened that made you shit at parenting, not something in you. I know how you were with him, I know how you couldn’t look at him in the beginning and you still ended up hugging him. I know you care about him. You shouldn’t have gone through that, Mick. I’m sorry I didn’t realize it.”

“It’s not like it was all sunshine and daisies for you either.”

“No, but Mick, I didn’t see it.” And Ian has to swallow a few times. “I thought you were both in a crappy situation and, though I hated her in the beginning, I think I hated her for the wrong reasons. I hated her for coming between us, instead of… It was easy to see how much she cared about Yev, so I thought… I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“It’s fine.”

And Ian knows it isn’t, but he can afford to let it slide for now. They’ll probably talk about this, again and again, analyzing it. It’s what they do now. So, he just says, “No, it’s not.” Then gets back to what they were originally talking about. “What are you going to do about Yev?”  

“I’m going to ambush, Svetlana,” Mickey says gleefully.

“Uh… Mickey?”

“Yev’s having a parent-teacher conference and I’m going to catch her just as she goes in.”

“What does ‘catch her’ mean?” Ian asks.

“What could—ah. No, I meant I’ll speak to her where she would care about other people’s opinion and wouldn’t scream in Russian at me.”

Ian doubts that. “Mickey?”

“Much. Wouldn’t scream a lot in Russian at me.” Mickey laughs. “Russians and Ukrainians, Firecrotch. It’s meant to be.” He huffs. “I’ll get a word in. For Yev.”

“You’re good to him, Mick. Good luck!”

*

“Ian?”

“Trevor?” What is Trevor doing here? “Hi,” Ian says, tone uncertain.

Trevor smiles. “Hello.”

After a few tries, Trevor and Ian called it quits for good and became friends. But not really. They haven’t spoken in several months and even though Ian would not call Mickey a friend—after all, Ian can’t really be just friends with somebody he’s in love with, it doesn’t work like that—Ian can’t help but compare the two. He thinks that there is something less than friendship with Trevor. Friendly-exes, maybe?

“It’s good to see you.”

Trevor’s smile tightens a little. “But you’re not here to see me?”

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” Ian says apologetically. “I’m meeting someone.”

“Oh, that’s…” Trevor trails off looking like he has no idea how to continue. “How are you?”

“Fine,” Ian replies. He goes on when Trevor just nods, “Working, you know how it is. What about you?”

“I’m working here actually,” Trevor answers and gestures to the homeless shelter for the LGBTQ youth behind him. “Today is a pretty big day for me.”

“Good luck!” Ian smiles.

This is too big a coincidence.

Colin, a friend of Trevor’s from the time they were together, comes up to them. “He’ll be here any moment now. Who’s this?”

“You know Ian,” Trevor answers with a frown.

“I know we’re busy,” Colin replies.

Ian raises his hands. “I won’t be a problem. Just waiting for someone.”

“Can’t you wait somewhere else?” Colin asks while ignoring Trevor’s glare.

“No,” Ian says and thinks about how much he’s going to enjoy this.

“Here he comes.” Trevor nods at a slick, black Audi. “It was nice to see you, Ian. Maybe we’ll do lunch some time?”

“Sure,” Ian replies and doesn’t move.

Before either Colin or Trevor can say anything, a bodyguard has jumped out of the car, holding the door open for a redhead Mickey.

Mickey smirks. “Hi, slut!”

Both Trevor and Colin freeze.

“I thought I heard something, but I don’t see anyone?” Ian asks Mickey bodyguard, swallowing a smile and keeping eye contact. Then Ian switches to Ukrainian. _“Have you?”_

The bodyguard’s lips twitch, Trevor makes a confused noise, and Colin sharply draws breath.

“Ay, you act like I’m short one more time and I’ll kick you in the shin,” Mickey warns without bite. He seems pleasantly surprised by Ian’s little gift.

Ian rolls his eyes. “You call me a slut one more time and I’ll use you as an armrest.” He finally breaks looks towards the grumpy voice and he can’t bite back his grin anymore. “Mickey.”

“Firecrotch.”

Ian laughs and sweeps Mickey up in a twirling hug.

“Thank you,” Mickey grumbles with a smile. “I didn’t need my dignity. Hold still, you fucker!”

Ian puts Mickey down but is surprised by Mickey’s hands tightening around him and Mickey’s head burying in his shoulder. Grinning, Ian hugs back just as strong. He missed this. Fuck, he missed _Mickey._

“Redhead,” Ian asks, using it as a cover to breathe Mickey in.

“You have anything against it?” Mickey is smiling, Ian can hear it in his voice.

Ian shakes his head. “Pretty, but doesn’t fit you.”

“Not everybody can be you,” Mikey says and starts to let go.

With a final squeeze, so does Ian. “I just answered your question.”

“Since you’re _clearly_ an expert, why won’t you tell me what color fits best?” Mickey’s eyebrows say exactly how much he doubts Ian’s expertise and Ian can’t believe he missed them so much. But he did.

“Black,” Ian answers immediately with a shit-eating grin. “As black as possible.”

And Mickey gives Ian one of those little, shy smiles that lights up Mickey’s whole face.

“Fucker,” Mickey says fondly and Ian was wrong. The scar does nothing to his handsomeness. Mickey looks like an angel.

“Um… what is going on here?” Trevor asks. He sounds surprised and confused.    

“I told you I was waiting for somebody,” Ian answers. “Mickey, Trevor. Trevor, Mickey. And that’s Colin.” He gestures toward the slack-jawed man. To be honest, he’d forgotten they were there.

“Mickey?” Trevor’s polite smile froze on his face.

Shit, Ian eventually told Trevor Mickey’s name. Colin makes a surprised sound, and Mickey looks suspiciously between Trevor and Ian. This is going to be bad.

“The boyfriend!” Mickey says cheerfully, the little shit. “Ian mentioned you.”

Trevor tries to glare, but it does nothing to change Mickey’s wolfish expression, so Trevor gives it up. “He mentioned you too. Several times.”

Mickey shrugs easily. “He didn’t choose me if it helps any.”

“And yet, here you are,” Trevor says.

“We reco—”

But Ian is tired of bullshit so he interrupts Mickey by saying, “He’s always gonna be around, Trevor.”

To Ian’s greatest surprise, it’s Colin who replies. “I can see that.” There’s a Lip-like expression on his face and it surprises Ian. He always thought that Colin is not the brightest bulb out there. “You guys know each other a long time? Grown up in Southside, I suppose.”

“Yep. Since we were—what? I know I was sixteen, but you were fourteen-fifteen?” Mickey turns to Ian and Mickey’s eyebrows are staging a rebellion. “How did you visit me in juvie?”

“I got creative with Lip’s license,” Ian replies. “I had to,” he defends himself. “Kash only called the police because of me.”

“Because of us, and all these years later I don’t remember the stint, I remember being shot.” Mickey bites his lip. “He was a jealous old perv, wasn’t he?”

Ian sees Trevor’s horrified expression. “That doesn’t even rank that high on the list of how many things tried to fuck with us,” Ian says trying to calm Trevor. And if Ian’s being honest, he’s proud of what they managed to get past.

“I’d bet,” Colin answers. “Do you want to see inside?”

“That’s what I came for,” Mickey replies and Colin gives him a look that makes Mickey smirk.

“Follow us,” Colin says, and gives Trevor a slight push forward.

“How did it go with Svetlana?” Ian asks as he’s absorbed in the circle of Mickey’s bodyguards. The ease of it makes his smile widen. It’s like he belongs.

“She shouted in Russian.” Mickey rolls his eyes, eyebrows dancing. “I shouted back in Ukrainian. She was shocked so I managed to get a word in. All’s good, Svetlana is on the case and you know how she gets.”

“So, that’s it?” Ian asks, knowing that this is the fastest a Milkovich gave up on _anything_ and suspicious of such an easy surrender.

“No.” Mickey snorts. “But I have to let her work her ruthless magic.”

“That sounds bloody,” Ian replies and Mickey answers with a smirk.

One of the bodyguards snorts.

*

In the end, all Ian remembers is Mickey’s warm presence beside him and the reactions Ian managed to draw. He stores them all safely in his thoughts. They are precious to him.


	6. Chapter 6

Ian yawns. He’s not really awake and doesn’t want to be, so he turns around and tries to sleep some more. It’s his birthday; he can do what he wants. Also, he doesn’t have a shift for six hours so that’s that.

But that’s not that because Lip, the asshole, opens the door with a bang and shouts, “Happy birthday!”

Fucker.

“G’way,” Ian orders. More like pleads, really, but c’mon.

“We are starting the party without you.”

“Shhh,” Ian mumbles. “’m sleeping.”

“Don’t mind if I join, right?” Lip asks like an asshole and jumps on the creaking bed before Ian can say, ‘Don’t.’

Enough time passes that Ian is drifting off, before Lips says, “I saw Trevor.”

“Good for you.”

“He was sad and ready to drink his sorrows.”

Ian can’t think of a reason for Trevor’s sadness, but the second part is what makes Ian turn. “What?”

“He was at that outreach event I told you about and was sitting at the open bar,” Lip explains easily, no longer touchy about his family asking and worrying about his drinking. Ian still doesn’t know how Lip does it since Ian always gets annoyed with them. And Lip goes on, “So, like a friend, I swooped in to save his liver.”

“You did it because are a gossipy dick.”

“That too.” Lip smirks. “Anyway, Trevor deflated when he saw me, gulped his drink, and told me he saw you. Then he ordered another whiskey. He looked ready to say fuck it and ask for the bottle.”

“Why?”

Lip continues to smirk in that way of his that is guaranteed to piss anybody off. “You don’t have any idea?”

“When I saw him he just got a big donation for the shelter he works at.” Ian shrugs. “I thought he’d celebrate.”

“Colin was there. He was amused.”

“When isn’t Colin there?”

One of Lip’s eyebrows rose. “You think he’s got a hard-on? For Trevor.”

“I am still not over Colin not being dumb.”

“Uh-huh.” Lip looks at Ian. “Why would they think you have a soulmate, Ian?”

Ian sat up. “What?”

“I know you weren’t out with David.”

“Soulmate?”

“So you are cheating on him, fine—”

“I’m not.”

 Lip ignores him. “But who are you cheating with that made _Trevor_ head straight for the bottle?”

“I don’t know why he’d do that.”

“Are you kidding me?”

Lip and Ian glare at each other.

“You really don’t know,” Lip says. He looks surprised and pitying.

“No.”

“You were going to end up together.” Lip throws up his hands. “Happily ever after. First in the family to get there.”

“Don’t think I don’t see you with Mandy.”

“That’s not the point!” Lip shouts. “Plus, she’s got a daughter. I’m just… fun. And we weren’t talking about me anyway.”

“If I had known I was letting down the whole _family_ ”—Ian rolls his eyes—“maybe I’d have done something about it. Like tell you all to _fuck yourselves._ But I didn’t.”

“Missed opportunity.” Lip shrugs because he’s an asshole. “Anyway, Trevor was thinking the same thing. He was probably waiting for you guys to get back together. That’s why he was upset and his friend was cheering. Apparently, you were so close to some guy that they talked about marriage and destiny and—whatever the fuck, I stopped listening.”

Answering ‘I wish,’ will not go over well for Ian so he doesn’t say anything. 

“And then Fiona tells me about your _friend_.” Lip puts as much doubt on the word that he’s lucky he doesn’t break something. “Why didn’t I know anything about him?”

“No reason.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That I don’t care if you know about him,” Ian answers. “You probably won’t get to see him, he’s just been that once in the country since Canada, and we’re not sleeping together so he didn’t come up.” _And when he did, you freaked._

“Then what was Trevor about? What about Fiona? Colin? He was ready to throw you a party.”

“I don’t know.” Ian is a lying liar who lies. “Ask them.”

Lip looks suspicious. “So, this guy. Your _friend_.”

“Yes, Lip, I’m completely in love with him.” Ian’s teeth grind. “But last I knew, they were supposed to feel the same for you or it doesn’t count.”

Lip blinks. Once. Slowly. “Are you saying that—”

“He acts like my friend and I won’t push? Yes.”

“Did he see you? Wait. He did.” And because he’s Lip, he says, “If you think about it, it was bound to happen eventually. Karma, man.”

Ian glares.

“Okay, okay.” Lip laughs. “Maybe he’s not into guys or redheads?” Lip asks and Ian shakes his head. “Maybe he has a phobia.” Ian shakes his head again after he hesitates a bit, making Lip say, “Or he’s not into sex.”

Ian sighs. “That’s not it either.”

“Wow.” Lip smirks. “Karma is really a bitch, huh?”

Dragging his blanket over his head, Ian sits back down.

“No, come on,” Lip says and doesn’t even try not to laugh. “It’s your bi—”

_“Ian!”_ Fiona shouts from downstairs. _“Come down!”_

“What now?”

Lip shrugs, looking curious and follows Ian down the stairs.

“What’s up?” Ian asks the room.

“Hello, my name is Lisa Murray from Murray Holdings,” a woman dressed sharply says extending her hand.

Ian shakes it. “Ian Gallagher.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Gallagher. Happy birthday.” Murray smiles politely. “An apartment has been purchased for you and I need your signature.” She gestures to her bag.

Ian first thought is ‘Mickey,’ which is very different than all the others’. Theirs is a variation on ‘What?’ If Ian stops and thinks about it, that’s understandable, but he’s too happy for it to register.

“You know who it is from.” Murray nods. “Good. Now, signature?”

“Who is it from?” David asks and when did he get here?

Lip smirks. “The _friend_?”

Ian shows Murray to the kitchen table and passes Fiona some plates to clear it, all the while not saying anything.

“What friend?” David sounds confused. Then he sounds pissed off. “Aren’t we going to talk about this?”

“About my gift?” Ian asks.

Murry has put two stacks of papers on the table. “It’s in South Loop. Here are the photos that we have with the listing.” She hands him one stack. “It has two bedrooms, one bath, 910 square feet, and it’s on the eighth floor. You can call this week between three and five p.m. and arrange an appointment to go see the apartment.” She gets out four keys on a ring. “You can, of course, go by yourself, but then I wouldn’t be able to inform you properly.”

“Damn,” Frannie murmurs from the side where she can see the pictures.

Ian nods as he looks over the pictures. “It’s furnished?” The apartment looks amazing.

“Another gift,” Murray says. “You have an added $10,000 to make any changes you deem necessary.”

“Did he—” Looking down, Ian swallows and grabs the pen.

“He came to see it himself before he made the purchase,” Murray answers.

“Hey!” David yells. “What the hell is going on?”

Ian frowns. “My friend bought me an apartment.”

“I have friends,” David says in an are-you-kidding-me tone. “They buy me sweaters, watches, colognes. _Not_ apartments.”

Lip raises an eyebrow. “You need richer friends.” 

“Or maybe your brother needs fewer sugar-daddies,” David snaps back making Lip sit up straight and glare.

Running a hand through his hair, Ian decides. “Leave.” He says it quietly but his voice carries. “Now. Goodbye.”

“Ian!” David says loudly like he’s offended.

How?

“Leave,” Ian repeats more firmly.

“Fine!” David grabs his jacket. “Have it your way, but you’ll—”

“Regret it?” Lip asks wryly. “I don’t think so.”

David slams the door.

“Another one bites the dust,” Debbie says dryly. “Can we see?”

“Yeah,” Ian answers. “Where do I sign?”

Murray’s lips curve slightly, but she doesn’t say anything about David. “Initial here.”

*

Murray leaves as put together as she came. When she leaves, she does so to the soundtrack of yells and glass breaking from the neighborhood—in the distance, shots can be heard—but besides her tidying her jacket and flipping her straight hair over her shoulder, she doesn’t seem too affected. As she walks straight-backed towards her car, Ian wonders if she’s the boss that Mickey talked about. She certainly fits the bill.

“Okay, what’s going on?” Fiona asks, planting her hands on her hips.

Liam shrugs. “Ian has an apartment now.”

“A _nice_ apartment,” Frannie pipes in and receives a smile from Liam.

“A what now?” V asks from the door. Kev, Mandy, and the kids are crowding behind her.

“Ian has a nice apartment now,” Liam adds to Frannie’s pleasure. “He received it as a gift.”

“I knew you were going places,” Mandy says with a smirk.

Ian flips her the bird. “Are you done?”

“We haven’t even started,” V says.

“Still a _friend_?” Lip asks and he’s really got to stop that or he’ll hurt himself.

“Did you see any strings attached?” Ian shoots back.

Fiona smiles slyly. “Or a list of favors?” She tries to clamp down on her laughter. “I think he deserves some anyway.”

Lip doesn’t bother and between guffaws, he says, “Ian wishes.”

And Ian really, really does.

*

“An apartment?”

“What?” Mickey asks. “Wanted a house?”

“Mick!”

“Happy birthday,” Mickey says fondly and it makes Ian melt.

“Thank you.”

*

In the end, nothing’s changed. The calls keep up, Ian’s still pining, but there’s a closeness they have built that is precious to him, maybe to them both, and Ian realizes that this is the new normal; a normal that allows them to share their thoughts, concerns, views, good news, and even bad ones. He realizes he loves it.

*

“I have to pick a roommate,” Ian says idly.

Mickey snorts. “How’s that working for you?”

“It’s not,” Ian admits.

*

“I think Iggy’s addicted,” Mickey says quietly.

Ian sighs. “What’s his poison?”

 “Cocaine.”

*

“How did you get the scar on your face, Mickey?”

“I got clipped by a bullet.”

Ian runs a hand through his hair. “Was it in defense of someone?”

“That wasn’t the whole reason.”

“Some of it?”

“Yes, Ian, it’s what you’re thinking about.”

Ian closes his eyes tightly. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t even know,” Mickey says and huffs.

“I’m sorry that this shit always happens to you.”

There’s silence for a while and then Mikey says, “Thank you.”

*

“Yev got a ‘C’ today.”

“So?” Ian asks. “Isn’t he too little to care about grades?”

“That’s what I said, but he was really upset.”

*

“I found a roommate and she’s a slob,” Ian complains.

Mickey snorts.

“I’m not that bad,” Ian defends himself. “Besides, it’s _my_ apartment.”

*

“He was beating him.”

“Who was?”

“Svet’s husband was beating Yev.”

“What are you going to do?” Ian asks. “Can I do something?”

“No, Svet has it handled.” Mickey sighs. “She applied for residence when we talked. Now she has it, she called the police, and she’s getting a restraining order. She’s leaving the bitch.”

“Good. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

*

“Carl is living my dream, right?”

Mickey hums in confirmation.

“I should be jealous or something, right?”

“But you’re not?”

“I guess I am.” Ian pauses. “Sometimes.”

“But?”

“It’s—He has nightmares when he’s at home. Bad ones. And you should see how he looks when he’s over there.”

“He’s your brother, Ian.”

“Yeah, he is.”

*

“Svet killed the bastard.”

Ian doesn’t know what’s going on.  He pulls the phone, looks at it, and then puts it back up. “What?”

“The bitch went after her and Yev.  He found out where they lived and tried to make them come back. But you know Svet. She had a gun, she wasn’t afraid to use it, and now the bitch is dead.”

“Who’s looking after Yev?”

“Me. I’ll be there in five hours,” Mickey says. “It’s dumb luck that I am in Canada.”

“Can I do something?”

“I don’t see what. I won’t stay long, anyway. Just enough until she gets arraigned, pay the bail and take care of legal fees, and then I’m back to Canada.”

“Okay.”

“There’s…”

“Name it,” Ian says without hesitation. 

“There’s going to be a trial because she’s Russian and he was rich.”

“Want me to be there?”

“…Yeah.”

“Tell me when and where.”

*

“Carl is home. He decided not to re-up and is looking at getting a job with the Feds.”

Mickey whistles. “That’s great.”

*

“Iggy is in rehab.”

“That’s really good, Mick.”

*

“I kicked my roommate out.”

“Yeah?” Mickey sounds amused.

“Yeah. I think I’ll try staying alone for a while.”

“Let me know how it goes.”

Ian smiles. “You got it.”

*

While the trial runs its course, they have Yev between them. They are trying to protect him from what he is too stubborn to avoid. Yev bears it all with his chin up. If he sometimes buries himself in one of their sides, he’s still a brave little boy, just one who needs a break once in a while.

At one point, Svet’s entire life is put up for debate and Ian joins Mickey and Yev outside. She had done harm, but not to that abusive shit. And Yev definitely doesn’t deserve to hear it.

But, in the end, Yev is both a Milkovich and his mother’s son, Svet is found not guilty, and everybody is relieved.

And if Mickey’s hand finds itself in Ian’s more often than not, Ian is just glad to be there.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your support!

“I’m coming to Chicago next month.”

Ian grins. “How long are you staying?”

“Two, maybe three weeks.”

“Why so much?” Ian shakes his head. “Not that I’m not happy about it, but something had to have happened.”

“Yeah, well, I have business, and I thought we might spend the 4th together, maybe tell Mandy? I don’t know yet.”

“That’s fine.” Ian is so happy that he keeps putting his foot in his mouth and that shit needs to stop. “It’s great, actually. Where are you staying?” Obviously, it’s not out yet.

“We are thinking about renting a place.”

“I have a bedroom open and a couch that’s very comfortable,” Ian offers.

“If you think that Iggy is going to make it three weeks without sex, you’re dreaming, which puts me on the couch, so no way.”

“But we’ll see each other, right?” Ian doesn’t like how desperate he sounds, but he needs the confirmation. He has to have something certain. Ian hasn’t even had a taste of his own medicine but the possibility of it is enough.

“Didn’t I say something about having a barbecue, reuniting our families, throwing Lip on the fire?”

Ian grins, relieved. “You didn’t go into details.”

“Yev and Svet might pass through for a few hours.” Mickey’s chair creaks so he probably leans back. “Svet won’t stay long. I just want Yev to see Natalie and Mandy, to know that no matter what he has another family out there.”

“I’ve got no problem with that, and I can’t think of anybody who would either.”

*

“Mick!” Ian shouts. It comes out a little high. 

Mickey’s eyebrows rise and he smirks. “Surprise?”

“Good surprise,” Ian says as he grins stupidly. He can feel it but he doesn’t care. Mickey’s here. Ian takes two steps forward and traps him in a hug. “I thought you were getting here tomorrow,” he mumbles into Mickey’s shirt. “Where’s Iggy?”

Mickey steps back. “He had to deal with his gun permit, some paperwork shitfest, and I shouldn’t move around without my bodyguards. I can’t even stay at the apartment because it’s not checked. They start tomorrow, so for now, I stay put.” He tilts his head. “Ready to be my knight in blue boxer-briefs?”

Looking down at himself, Ian continues to grin. “They’re optional.” He steps back to the soundtrack of Mickey’s laughter. “Come in.”

“You didn’t change much,” Mickey says while he looks around.

“A few things here and there.” Ian shrugs. “Do you want something?”

 “For you to put pants on,” Mickey says with a wolfish smile. “I’m so tired that I’m not thinking straight and I might the wrong idea.”

_Or the right one._

“Pair of pants, coming right up.” Ian grins cheekily. “I didn’t hear anything about a shirt.”

Mickey chuckles. “Go get dressed, asshole. When do you leave for work?”

“In four hours,” Ian says on the way to his bedroom.

“How did that go again?”

Ian looks over his shoulder, not understanding what Mickey’s talking about, when he sees Mickey’s eyes fixed on his ass. Turning, Ian walks backward, on display and enjoying Mickey’s attention. “Hate to see him go, love to watch him leave?”

“That’s the one.”

“And I’ll leave you to it,” Ian says as he turns back around, feeling Mickey’s eyes on him.

Ian doesn’t waste time jumping into a pair of sweats. “So what did you want to do?” he asks as he comes back to the living room.

“I wanna sit here and be boring,” Mickey almost whines from the couch. “Join me?” Then he takes a good look at Ian. “You enjoy torturing people.”

“Yup.” Ian stops to pick up two bottles of water. “What are we watching?” He hands one to Mickey.

“Uh…” Mickey blinks at the TV. “Explosions and shit?”

Ian chuckles. “Explosions and shit, it is.”

The movie is the first Avengers. Ian knows that just as he knows that by the time Loki was gauging a guy’s eye out, Mickey is leaning on him. By the time Loki is in custody, Mickey’s head is on his lap. And by the time Loki makes his escape, Mickey’s asleep with Ian looking down at him and swearing that nothing is ever going to happen to him again or Ian will lose his shit and pull a Lok—no, a Joker.

That’s the last thing Ian sees from the movie, too busy admiring the familiar outline of Mickey’s face, the lips that look as soft as he remembers them, even the slope of Mickey’s nose, though Ian can’t name anything special about it. It’s Mickey’s and Ian… He thought at one time that Mickey was dead, so it’s enough.

Slowly, Ian begins running his fingers through Mickey’s hair.

Mickey wakes up a bit and asks groggily, “Wha’ you doin’?”

“Nothing,” Ian whispers. “Go back to sleep.”

And Mickey grumbles, because of course he does, his eyebrows twist in a pissed-off expression, but he settles down. He buries his head in Ian’s stomach and sighs. That’s when Ian realizes that Mickey’s dark-haired again.

Ian stays like that, watching Mickey, and wondering ‘what if.’

*

“You look like you’re missing something, but you’re okay with it.”

“Not that it’s any less weird, but yes, Marie. I am.”

*

“Please, don’t freak,” Ian tells Mandy desperately.

Mickey has been around for three days already and Ian managed to convince him to stay at his place and, after they talked it over, they ended up realizing there wasn’t an easy way to deal with telling Mandy. The only thing they could do was to invite her to Ian’s apartment. That is why Ian’s sitting here feeling all kinds of awkward while trying not to give Mandy a heart attack.

“What’s this about?” Mandy asks suspiciously.

“I can’t tell you,” Ian tells her apologetically. “And, anyway, you wouldn’t believe me. You have to see for yourself. Just—”

“Don’t freak,” Mandy says dryly.

Ian smiles, shrugs, and opens the door.

“Hi, Mandy!” Mickey’s voice is cheerful. Very, very cheerful.

Mandy freezes for a long moment before she runs to him. She stops before she can reach him. She breathes deeply and she makes as if to touch him. A bit of hesitation and there: she feels that he’s alive and Ian can understand what she’s going through.

Only, Mandy is a Milkovich, and if Ian felt anger, she shows rage.

“You asswipe!” Mandy goes to throw something, exactly as Ian knew she would so there are only pillows in range. She throws one. “How are you alive?” Suddenly, she looks like she has an idea, takes her shoe off, and launches it.

Mickey ducks. Barely. But ducks. 

“Hey,” Ian whispers to Natalie who is watching with wide eyes as her mom freaks out. “Want to go to the store with me?”

Natalie nods, not taking her eyes off the show.

*

When they return, they find Mandy and Mickey on the couch, with red eyes, talking to each other.

“Natalie, sweetheart, come meet your uncle,” Mandy says, standing. “This is Uncle Mickey. Uncle Mickey, Natalie.”

Mickey smiles brightly. “Hi, beautiful.”

“Hello,” Natalie murmurs, overwhelmed by shyness. “Mom,” she whispers loudly. “Wasn’t Uncle Mickey dead?”

Mandy opens and closes his mouth a couple of times. “Uncle Mickey is a special case, honey. He’s like a cockroach.”

Natalie makes a disgusted face.

“She means that in the best way,” Ian says loudly over Mickey’s laughter.

*

Ian is in an excellent position to see Lip’s face when Mickey shouts, “Firecrotch, if you keep moving those giant legs, I’m going to have you doing laps ‘cause I as sure as fuck am not running after you!”

It’s one of the few times that Ian has ever seen Lip speechless.

“It’s just five feet from the car,” Ian shouts back without turning away.

“Yet you are four feet away already,” Mickey snaps back.

Ian turns with a smile. “Was I supposed to wait for your short ass?”

“You know it, whore,” Mickey says smiling and then, when he sees Lip, smirks. “Hi, Lip, how’s life treatin’ ya?”

“Soulmates,” Lip says softly, but Ian is close enough to hear it. “Of course.”

Fiona comes running. “Did I hear M—” she interrupts herself. “Mickey?!”

“Yup,” Mickey says, happy with himself and the chaos he managed to create. Asshole. “That’s what I’m told.”

Fiona runs to him and hugs him. “Glad you are alive!” She smiles widely.

“Yeah, yeah,” Mickey replies, shy and pleased. “Good to see you, too.”

“Wait.” Fiona looks from Mickey to Ian. “Are you Ian’s friend?”

Mickey snickers. “I am.”

“Were you…” Lip squints. “Were you blond then?”

Ian laughs and Mickey’s grin can only be called shit-eating. “Yes.”

“Motherfucker,” Lip says faintly. “ _You_ ”—he points at Ian—“told me, but then you changed your mind. And Fiona said you were worried about him. And you just accepted the apartment.” He pulls at his hair, leaving it sticking up. “Trevor and Colin going on and on about you two, saying that shit about destiny, when you’ve worked too damn hard for it to be anything but your choice. But it makes sense they’d believe that. I’ve been in the same room with you two. Who the hell else wouldn’t touch you, but still care about you?” Lip sits down on the steps. “I’m an idiot!”

“Yeah, you are,” Ian says, afraid that Lip might’ve given away too much.

But Mickey just laughing, bright and amused.

“Guys!” Fiona walks straight by them, patting Lip’s shoulder, and entering the house. “I know who Ian’s friend is!”

From somewhere in the house, V’s voice can be heard. “Who?”

“Mickey!” Fiona shouts.

Several voices gather together in a yelled out, “What?!” Then hurried steps follow like a small herd of elephants until they show up in the doorway. Everybody is pushing each other to get a better view.

“How the fuck?” Carl asks, sounding dazed and a little like he has a crush.

Debbie, as always, is the subtle one. “Weren’t you shot in the face?”

“I got better,” Mickey answers and smirks.

The herd descends.

*

Ian is one step away from the staircase when he registers what’s going on. David is there, with a gun, threatening his family. They aren’t too impressed with it, but they know how much damage a gun can do so they keep mostly still.

“What’s going on?” Ian asks.

“Ian!” David jumps suddenly and the gun goes off. Luckily, it’s pointed to the ceiling. …Where Mickey’s sleeping.

Ian feels… He doesn’t know what, but he’s already turned to go upstairs. His heart is pounding. No, not again.

David’s yelling something.

Who the fuck cares?

Ian collides with Mickey on the way up. A swearing Mickey, but not a shot one. And Ian can tell because Mickey is just in his black boxer-briefs, looking pissed off, but alive.

Alive.

Ian’s hands tremble as he gathers Mickey in a hug. Alive. He’s alive.

“Gallagher.” Mickey’s voice comes off muffled, but annoyed. “Why is that bitch pointing a gun at me?”

“I don’t know.” Ian inhales and grips Mickey tighter, turning them so Ian’s in the path of a bullet.

“Could _you_ have something to do with it?”

“Maybe.”

“Are you aware that at this distance a bullet would pass right through you and into me with no problem?”

“Yes.”

“Then what are you doing?” Mickey asks gently.

Ian shrugs. “Trying.”

“How about you let me go and we can sort this out?” Mickey runs a hand up and down Ian’s back. “Together, all right?”

Ian nods and, though he doesn’t want to, releases Mickey.

“Now, who the fuck are you?” Mickey asks David.

“You already replaced me?” David has the guts to sound offended.

“You get used to it,” Mickey drawls.

“How?” David can’t seem to understand that Ian’s life doesn’t revolve around their barely-there relationship. “Ian, explain.”

Mickey is looking at David as if he was dropped on his head as a baby, and Ian steps in before Mickey says out loud.

“We’re over, I told you,” Ian says, staying calm…ish.

Can Ian be blamed for wanting David’s head on a pike? No, he can’t. He did say ‘Joker,’ didn’t he?

David sputters. “But… But.” He stops, takes a deep breath, and raises his chin. “After all we’ve been through together?”

Now, David’s done it. Ian winces and looks at Mickey. If looks could kill…

 “Ay, listen here you preppy bitch!” And off goes Mickey. “While you were out being rich and shit, drinking cocktails on a beach in Maui—I don’t know and don’t care— _we_ were dealing with crap here.”

David squints. “That’s not—I wasn’t in Ma—”

“Did I say you could talk?” Mickey narrows his eyes as he _saunters_ toward David. “We dealt with whores, with guns and bullet wounds, with juvie, with revenge, with torture, with all kinds of rape, with parents, with punches, with kids, with jail, with betrayal, with running from shit, and with _hatred_. You name it, we probably went through it. And past it. We’re still fucking _here_!” 

“But… he showed me the dugouts,” David says pleadingly.

Mickey’s head snaps towards Ian and _glares_. Fire, blue fire, might’ve as well come out of them for all the spite that glare packed, but come on, Ian didn’t. Not like that!

It occurs to Ian, though, in a corner of his mind as he takes in everybody in the room, just how many shades of less-than-sane there are.

“Give me the gun,” Mickey orders.

David doesn’t even argue. He just passes it and takes a step back. And by the way, he’s suddenly hunched, he may be hiding.

Not that Ian has time for that because he has his hands raised. “Don’t shoot. I didn’t. We went past the place and I said, ‘Here are the dugouts, brings back memories.’ That’s all. Don’t shoot!”

Mickey huffs.

The next thing Ian knows, a plate shatters on David’s head wielded by Mandy, Mickey dances away, and Carl tackles an unconscious David.

“He’s out,” Mandy tells Carl.

Carl shrugs. “I had forgotten how it was like to be around you people and acted like you were regular Joes. My bad, won’t happen again.”

“That’s okay,” Mandy says.

Soothingly.

Mandy says soothingly and Ian feels… like he’s watching the upgraded version of his teenage years.

And damn, it’s good to be home. 

“Do I call the cops?” Fiona asks the room.

“Yup,” Mickey says to the surprise of everybody.

“That’s going to take some time getting used to,” V says, watching Mickey with narrowed eyes.

Iggy grins. “Not that much.”

*

“Mickey?!” Tony has the, now, expected reaction.

Everybody nods.

*

“So what happened here?” Tony asks long-sufferingly as David gets taken away with an ambulance and Tony’s partner.

“He came in with a gun, started waving it around, shot the ceiling—”

Mickey interrupts Lip. “And the roof. Passed straight through.”

“Met Mickey, gave him the gun, Mandy broke a plate on David’s head, and Carl tackled him. The end,” Lip finishes.

“So… Mickey, Mandy, and Carl.” Tony snorts. “It’s like we went back in time. Any weapons in the house?”

“Mine,” Iggy pipes up. “Got papers for it and everything.”

“And the reason why you have it?” Tony asks as he wordlessly asks for the papers. “Bodyguard. Who are you guarding?”

“An asshole.” Iggy smirks.

Mickey flips him the bird.

“Him?!” Tony looks at Iggy like Iggy’s making a joke at his expense and Tony’s waiting for the punchline. But nothing happens, so Tony shakes his head. “Anybody else?” He receives no reply and he nods. “Why did David give you the gun?” he asks Mickey.

“To shoot Ian,” Mickey replies.

Tony tilts his head. “Do I want to know?” Lip opens his mouth, but Tony speaks over him, “I don’t want to know.” He holds his palm up. “So, David. What reason did he give for waving the gun?”

“He doesn’t get that ‘no’ means ‘no,’” Lip answers.

“What do you mean?” Tony has his pen raised over the paper, ready to write.

“Well, when people say ‘no’ they usually…”

Tony looks at Lip who trails off with a smirk.

“Who told him ‘no,’ smartass?” Tony asks.

“Me,” Ian says. “I dumped him on my birthday.”

“Harsh,” Tony mumbles.

“Man, he’s got all the gun-waving assholes he needs right here,” Carl says gesturing to Mickey. Then Carl thinks better of it and he includes Iggy and himself.

“Maybe too many?” Tony asks, chuckling. “Okay, do you want to press charges?”

“We’ll think about it,” Fiona says.

 Tony nods. “Try to settle down, guys. There’s a guy who we’re supposed to look out for so try not to scare the crap out of him, all right?”

Mickey rolls his eyes. “And why do we care? Why do _you_ care?”

“Have to keep an eye out for this Gay Rights rich fart,” Tony says and Iggy claps a hand to his mouth. “I don’t know what he’s done, nobody tells me anything, but the crap rolls downhill and this comes from up high. Can’t look bad.”

Lip catches on and he offers with a smirk, “It’s not your fault he chose Southside.” He makes a vain effort to look less like somebody has handed him a treasure. “It’s not like the Department did anything to him.” He fails.

“Could they maybe have sent him to prison without evidence?” Ian asks brightly. “And then declared him dead on a hunch?”

Tony stops writing.

“I had a near miss with a bullet, but other than that, great job,” Mickey drawls.

“We’re sorry for the inconvenience, sir,” Tony says dryly. He’s quiet for a bit. “You know, sometimes I think I’d spend my days more usefully slamming my head against the wall.” He nods decisively. “Nice ink.”

And Ian’s head snaps to Mickey. In the background, Tony’s saying something, but Ian doesn’t hear. He knew, of course, he did. He had even seen it, but never stopped to take it in before. Gun-wielding ex-boyfriends and fear have done that to him.

On Mickey’s hands and arms, on his thighs, and on his chest, hiding Ian’s name, is a huge tattoo. Done in color, the red of the blood and gore is cut by the claws and the fangs of the wolf wanting to get out. It’s striking. The wolf itself is a sort of blue-black and his eyes are also blue. A beautiful, bright… wait.

Ian gets closer to Mickey, frowning at the tattoo.

The wolf’s eyes _are_ blue. Ian wasn’t wrong about that. But there’s also a ring of…

“Green,” Ian hears himself say. “His eyes are blue and green.” He looks up at Mickey, with eyes that he knows are the same green as the wolf’s. “Who chose the colors, Mick?”

Mickey bites his lip and Ian _knows_.

“I did,” Mickey replies.

To Mickey, Ian never left, he just needed to earn his spot.

“Can I?” Ian takes another step closer. “Can I kiss you?”

Mickey looks up at him, bites his lip again, and nods. “Yes.”

Ian was right. Mickey’s lips are as soft as he remembers. His entire body slots with Ian’s like it remembers how. The kiss is warm and breath-taking. Ian sighs.

Fuck, it’s so good to be home.

*

Mickey has to go to Ukraine before their first date, but he gets back. They talk all the time. It’s nice. So nice, in fact, that when they stop in front of Sizzler’s, Ian understands they aren’t caught in the same mistakes of their youth.

“I know a great pizza place,” Ian says. “Thin crust.”

Mickey laughs. “Fine by me, Firecrotch. It’s even better.”

And Ian knows Mickey isn’t talking about the food.

*

“You look like a happy man.”

“I am.”

“I want to meet him,” Marie says. “The man you love.”

“My fiancé.” Ian grins. “The wedding’s in December.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you want to comment (or just talk to me) you can do it here or on my [tumblr](http://e-alexandrescu.tumblr.com/).


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